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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24468769">beam me up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskybusiness/pseuds/whiskybusiness'>whiskybusiness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Lovers, Happy Ending, Love/Hate, M/M, SeongSang Background, Top and Bottom Hongjoong, tsundere hongjoong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:49:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24468769</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskybusiness/pseuds/whiskybusiness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"And then he just shoves the phone right in my fucking face," Hongjoong says, waving his hands in the air. "Can you believe it? I almost threw up. The thing is fucking huge."</p><p>"Can we not talk about cocks at the dinner table," Seonghwa says tiredly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Song Mingi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>573</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luckily Seonghwa picks up on the third ring. </p><p>“What, Joong?” he hisses — or maybe that’s just the crackle of Hongjoong’s tinny speakers. “I’m on a date, what do you need?”</p><p>Oh. “I know,” Hongjoong assures him, eyes widening as he holds the phone to his ear. “I know you’re on a date! I totally know that.”</p><p>He did not, in fact, know that at all.</p><p>He hears only silence from the other end, and then a car whizzes by, definitely going over the school zone speed limit of 25 miles per hour. It cuts off whatever Seonghwa says in response, which was likely mean and angry anyway. Date Seonghwa is not much nicer than non-date Seonghwa, at least when it comes to Hongjoong. </p><p>Hongjoong scuffs his shoe on the pavement. “What? Couldn’t hear you.”</p><p>“I said, where are you? Are you calling for a ride?”</p><p>“Maaaaaybe.” He hears a sigh from the phone. “Just, the bus is running super fucking late. But if you’re busy, you’re busy, it’s fine —”</p><p>“Where’s the bus stop?” Seonghwa cuts him off impatiently. </p><p>Hongjoong does a little yes! fist-punch in the air. Amazing. Seonghwa will save him. He doesn’t have to wait here for another 30+ minutes, staring aimlessly at his phone and gurgling about the pile of shit he has to do in the next week. </p><p>“Marlborough Street,” he tells Seonghwa. “Intersects with—” he checks the side street — “uh, Prince George Ave.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Thank you so so so much, Seonghwa, you’re saving me so much time, I’ll make it up to you and Yeosang, I promise.” Internally, Hongjoong is going Whee Whee Whee, like a wheezing kettle or a gay toy train. </p><p>“Don’t thank me yet,” Seonghwa warns him. “I’m not coming. I asked Mingi to get you.”</p><p>The train derails. </p><p>“What?” Hongjoong stares in shock and horror at the pavement. “Actually,” he adds quickly, “I’d rather walk! Nice day, flowers are blooming —”</p><p>“It’s winter, dumbass.”</p><p>“ — it’s November, basically still summer, and also waiting isn’t that bad. I could do so much on my phone. Very productive. Laptops are passe now, did you know?” Hongjoong is rambling, even though he knows Seonghwa is only listening to him with half an ear. Maybe a quarter. </p><p>“Look, his season is over and all he’s doing is jerking off in his room and eating hot Cheetos,” Seonghwa says. “He has nothing to do except chauffeur people. And study, I guess, but I don’t think he’s really doing that. It’ll be ten minutes, tops.”</p><p>“You don’t know the traffic,” Hongjoong tries valiantly. Then he slumps against the nearest bus stop pole. “I can walk, I swear.”</p><p>“He’s already said he'll come. Be a mature adult, please?”</p><p>“With <i>Mingi</i>?” Hongjoong says, affronted, but Seonghwa has already hung up the phone. </p><p>Gahhhh! No. No! <i>Not fair</i>, he thinks, kicking angrily at the innocent pavement. Not fair at all. He just wanted to get a start on his assignments, that’s all. And this is what he gets. </p><p>He stews for a while, jittering exasperatedly as he paces back and forth in front of the bus stop.</p><p>He could still walk home. He really could — it would take him about an hour, but what it would not save in time, it would save in having to put up with —</p><p>“Yo, Hongjoong!” </p><p>That.</p><p>Mingi drives a stupid fucking grey minivan that his mom gave him when minivans stopped being in style in suburbia, like, in 2010. It’s extremely ugly and Hongjoong wants to throw up every time he must subject himself to its visage.</p><p>Window rolled down, Mingi has his bare arm hanging out as he waves to Hongjoong. He already looks annoyed. <i>That makes two of us,</i> Hongjoong thinks, teeth clenched. </p><p>He takes his sweet time crossing the street, and walks around the back of the car to get to the passenger seat. And if he slams the car door a little aggressively when he gets in, that’s no one’s business but his own. </p><p>“Not even a hello?” Mingi looks at him sideways, one hand looped casually over the steering wheel. He’s wearing a very loose white tank with unnecessarily huge arm holes. Hongjoong very carefully does not look too close, lest he get a glimpse of armpit hair and excessive skin. </p><p>“You have hot Cheetos on your mouth,” he says sulkily, throwing Mingi a grimace. </p><p>Mingi brings a hand up to rub at his lips, and Hongjoong can’t look away fast enough to avoid making eye contact with his armpit. Such a fucking slutty top, so much skin revealed. And yes, armpit hair — sparse, but it’s there. Hongjoong turns to look out the window, feeling like his eyes have been seared by the sight. </p><p>“I don’t see anything,” Mingi says, turning his face side to side as he looks in the rearview mirror. “Were you joking, or?”</p><p>Hongjoong preens smugly. “Must’ve just been your skin tone.”</p><p>“Very mature, Hongjoong.” Mingi’s looking at him, and Hongjoong wants to bite back, <i>And what about it?</i> but that would really just prove a point, and not his own. </p><p>“Sorry, my maturity programming must’ve malfunctioned when I saw your face.” Hongjoong sinks back into the seat. “Anyway, do you want to, like, drive? It’s illegal to be parked here.”</p><p>“It’s illegal to be that dumb,” Mingi mutters, but he puts the car into drive, flicks on his turn signal and pulls into traffic. </p><p>They drive in blissful, if irritated silence for a good few minutes. Hongjoong wants to switch the radio on but he doesn't know which button does that — so sue him, he's gay and he knows cars like he knows trigonometry, which is to say, not at fucking all. It’s probably for the best. He suspects that the radio would engender a whole new form of barbed debate, one that would end with one or both of them trying to remember the cost of bail for stranglers. </p><p>So silence it is. </p><p>He pretends to stare out the window for a while before Mingi says, hand tapping on the steering wheel, "So you were at your gay volunteer thing, huh?" </p><p>Big dumb sports boy with his big oversized mouth. Sighing, Hongjoong spares him a distasteful glance. "How could you tell," he says. "Gay volunteer thing? Don't act like you don't know what it's called."</p><p>"I know what it's called," Mingi shoots back. "I just didn't know if I could say the word. I mean, because it's been reclaimed by gay people, right? But I thought —" he breaks off, passing into the right lane to let a Porsche accelerate past them, "— like, non-gay people still shouldn't say it."</p><p>Hongjoong outright glares at him. "What have you been doing? Browsing Jezebel?" </p><p>"Did I get it wrong?" </p><p>"You can just call it QUAC." Hongjoong rolls his eyes before Mingi can make a stupid duck joke, like he’s done every time Hongjoong has mentioned his extracurricular activity. "Queer Action Club. Not Gay Volunteer Thing."</p><p>GVT definitely does not have the same ring to it. Guh-vuht? No. Bad. Very homophobic. </p><p>"So how was QUAC?" Mingi seems intent on making conversation, and making Hongjoong's life difficult and horrible, as usual. "Any fun actions?"</p><p>They stop at a crosswalk to let a hot dad and an equally hot poodle stroll across. Hongjoong isn’t even distracted, because he’s now staring in alarm out the window at the suddenly familiar street. </p><p>"Where are you taking me?" he demands.</p><p>Mingi glances over at him. "Uh, your house?"</p><p>"This is not my fucking house," Hongjoong hisses at him, hands clenching around his thighs. "I do not live here anymore! Fuck. Do not turn right. Turn around. Fuck fuck fuck."</p><p>Bewildered, Mingi backs into a three point turn in the middle of the street, bracing his hand on Hongjoong’s seat as he looks behind the car. "What do you mean? Did you and Horse Dude move?"</p><p>Grr. </p><p>"Yeah, I moved out a month ago when we fucking broke up," Hongjoong says tightly. The words make something squeeze in his middle, even if he hasn’t cried about it in days now. Hooray!</p><p>Mingi stops in the middle of reversing and turns to him, stupid mouth hanging open. "Wh — you and Horse Dude broke up?" </p><p>"Can you please just get us out of here and I'll tell you my fucking life story. God, Mingi."</p><p>"Okay, okay, Jesus," Mingi says, raising his eyebrows. But he does, in fact, get them out of there. </p><p>Hongjoong doesn't relax until they're back in the center of town, stopped at an intersection. </p><p>"Uh, so where do you live now?" Mingi asks slowly, like he thinks Hongjoong will bite his head off if he raises his voice.</p><p>Hongjoong hates it. It's just like how everyone's been talking to him for the past month, all <i>omg do you need anything</i> and <i> I'm here for you</i> and <i>how're you holding up?</i></p><p>Stupid. He turns, glowering at Mingi. "Did Seonghwa seriously not tell you about any of this? </p><p>"Uh…" Mingi blinks rapidly at him. "Uh. He said you were going through a hard time, I think? Like, yeah, I guess it was a month ago-ish. We were in division championships, I guess I wasn't paying a lot of attention." </p><p>"The one time Seonghwa doesn't run his mouth." Hongjoong sighs, suddenly tired. He's tired of talking about it. He wishes he didn't have to think about it. "I live with Yeosang now. His roommate moved out so I took her room." </p><p>"Oh, got it." Mingi must know where Yeosang's apartment is, because he goes straight at the intersection without even putting an address into his phone. </p><p>Rubbing at his thighs, Hongjoong tries to relax. He could've sworn everyone in their whole friend circle knew about his mess of a breakup, but Mingi is truly unique in his ability to be oblivious. Fucking division championships, whatever the fuck that means. </p><p>This time, Hongjoong pays more attention to the landscape outside of the window. He's even worse at geospatial awareness than he is at driving, but he's pretty sure they're headed in the direction of Yeosang's place and not, like, down to the river so Mingi can hit him over the head and sink him like a stone.</p><p>Mingi keeps looking at him as they drive. Like Hongjoong is some kind of withered post-breakup zoo creature, pathetic and tragic, and Mingi just can’t stop scanning him for signs of his failure. </p><p>"What are you looking at?" Hongjoong grits out, when he can’t take it anymore. </p><p>"Uh, just.” Mingi hums consideringly, like he’s still trying to process Single Hongjoong. Aren’t they both. “You really broke up?" </p><p>"Is it that surprising?" Hongjoong asks dully. </p><p>"I mean, yeah. You guys were together for, like, a year."</p><p>"Eleven months."</p><p>"Yeah." Mingi should really keep his eyes on the road, but they keep just darting over, like Hongjoong's changing shape continuously next to him. "What happened?" he asks. </p><p><i>Absolutely no fucking boundaries,</i> Hongjoong thinks, but it lacks the usual heat.</p><p>"He cheated on me," he says shortly. </p><p>"Oh." </p><p>It's surprising but Hongjoong doesn't feel ashamed when he says it. He doesn't feel the usual sting of embarrassment at having to admit that yes, he and his long-term partner broke up, and yes, it had been because Wooyoung had caught his boyfriend fucking one of the students in the class he TAs for. </p><p>The latter he hasn’t told anyone but Seonghwa and Yeosang, because it's so fucking embarrassing and infuriating it hurts. Even just telling people he got cheated on hurts. Humiliating. </p><p>But weirdly, telling Mingi he got cheated on isn't bad at all. </p><p>Maybe it’s because Mingi already thinks his entire existence is hilariously stupid. Mingi had disliked Seongbin, too — called him horse dude because he would always tell the same story about getting kicked in the chest by a wild stallion at horse camp when he was twelve. That was when Seongbin would still hang out with Hongjoong’s friends, which wasn't often, by the end. And Hongjoong had hated the story, too, but for appearances’ sake he’d flashed Mingi rawr eyes whenever he used that stupid nickname. </p><p>So anyway, there's not much dignity left to lose between him and Mingi.</p><p>It makes Hongjoong smile, oddly enough. Always dependable — like destiny. Mingi hates his guts; he hates Mingi’s guts. And they make it work, coexisting in the same loose social sphere without managing to sock each other in the face every time they’re in the same space. </p><p>"Um,” Mingi says, shifting in his seat as he drives. “That sucks, H — uh. I'm s — "</p><p>"Shut it," Hongjoong cuts him off, grinning. "Save me the fake pity, no one's here to give you golden boy points for it."</p><p>Mingi's hands tighten on the wheel as he turns. Onto Yeosang's street, Hongjoong realizes. "I'm not faking anything," he says, glaring at the road. "But if you're gonna be rude, then I'll shut up."</p><p>And thus, balance is restored. </p><p>"As always, a pleasure, Mingi," Hongjoong says when they pull up in front of Yeosang's building. He unclips his seat belt and pushes open the car door. "Have a wonderful day," he adds sweetly, just to see Mingi's eyes widen before he shuts the door and strolls off to his new home, cackling.</p><p>Hongjoong: 12,000. Mingi: Negative 1 million. </p><p> </p><p>_____________________</p><p> </p><p>“They really need to add space to that place,” Hongjoong complains, forcing his legs to move faster to keep up with Seonghwa’s fluid stride. “This is literally the fourth time this week it’s been that full.”</p><p>“Library’s the place to be,” Seonghwa says, always the voice of reason. “Maybe they’ll renovate this summer.”</p><p>“Sure they will. Right after they build their huge, athletes-only gym.” Hongjoong snorts as they reach Seonghwa’s house, the pink paint unmistakeable amid a street of more societally approved hues. “Also, please tell me no one’s home.”</p><p>“I live with five other people, Joong. There’s always someone home.”</p><p>Grr, Hongjoong thinks. He wishes they’d been able to find space at the library. He can work anywhere if he’s got his headphones, but it means he’s gonna have to deal with extra distractions, and fuck if Hongjoong can’t deal with extra distractions right now. He’s got a mountain of work to finish before Monday, which gives him: ah, yes. Twenty hours.</p><p>At least Seonghwa’s house has free coffee.</p><p>He toes his shoes off in front of the door and follows Seonghwa into the living room, preparing to say a cheery hello to whoever’s around. Hongjoong is very good at being the bare minimum of polite and nothing more. It’s why he has so many friends, obviously, and also why he no longer has a boyfriend, probably. </p><p>Of fucking course Mingi has to be chilling on the sofa shirtless. </p><p>Hongjoong sees nipples and then he sees red, coming to an abrupt halt and almost knocking into Seonghwa where he’s stopped to greet his housemates. He wants to growl. Mingi is shirtless and wearing some kind of long, loose shorts, sitting next to Yunho on the couch, a stranger sitting on his other side.</p><p>It’s the stranger that makes Hongjoong decide not to commit a felony. </p><p>“Hello,” he says, jaw rigid as he smiles at them. </p><p>“Hongjoong!” Yunho smiles back, jumping up to wrap him in a long-armed hug. </p><p>Hongjoong lets himself be hugged and meets Mingi’s gaze over Yunho’s shoulder, trying to out-stare him so he gets up and runs away. No luck. When Yunho draws back, Mingi’s still sitting on the sofa, splayed out half-naked, and he’s still looking at Hongjoong. </p><p>God had been feeling egregiously spiteful when She gave that man functioning eyes. Hongjoong wants to bark at him. </p><p>“Haven’t seen you in a while, dude,” Yunho says, hands wrapped around Hongjoong’s shoulders. He’s almost bouncing in place. “We missed you! How’ve you been?”</p><p>“Been better,” Hongjoong tells him, doing his best to keep a smile on his face. “Missed you too! I’ve been, um. Really busy.” </p><p>Awkward silence. Yunho rubs at his arms, expression sympathetic and kind of perplexed, like he’s wondering what to say. Aren’t they fucking all. </p><p>In the corner of the room, the giant elephant blows air out through its trunk. </p><p>“You want to introduce Hongjoong to our new housemate?” Seonghwa gestures behind Yunho to the strange boy sitting beside Mingi on the couch. Sitting with decorum, unlike the slut next to him. </p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Yunho steps back and waves to the kid. “This is Jongho! He took Minhee’s room.”</p><p>“Hey,” Hongjoong says nicely, stepping forward to shake the kid’s hand. He looks small. Not, like, Hongjoong-small, but young-small. Baby-faced, but cute. </p><p>“Hi, nice to meet you,” Jongho tells him, and aw — Hongjoong simps at his adorable gummy smile. </p><p>“Can we get back to the game now?” Mingi interrupts, fidgeting with the console in his hands. He looks annoyed, but at least he’s not looking at Hongjoong now, staring at the TV instead. They look like they’re playing one of those race-y video games, Mario Kart maybe. Not Hongjoong’s speciality. </p><p>“Mingi,” Yunho says, like he’s telling off a puppy who peed on the floor.</p><p>Mingi sighs and frowns, spreading his arms over the back of the couch. Armpit hair, again. </p><p>Hongjoong can’t help but glare at him briefly before looking back over to Jongho. “So what year are you?” he asks. </p><p>“Freshman, what about you?”</p><p>“Junior,” Hongjoong tells him. Jongho nods. “Do you know what you want to study yet?”</p><p>Jongho does this shy laugh, gummy-smiling again. Hongjoong decides that he likes him, even if he’s not sure if Jongho is gay. He’s probably somewhat gay, but the answer depends on whether he’s just playing this dumb game just to participate in house activities, or if he really, like, enjoys it. “I’m not sure,” Jongho says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I think maybe music? Or English.”</p><p>“I’m a music major,” Hongjoong tells him, now even more convinced he likes him. “So’s Seonghwa, but you probably already know that, right.”</p><p>“I told him you’re more into production, so if he has any questions about it, he can ask,” Seonghwa cuts in. “Hongjoong and I lived together freshman year,” he adds, and he says it weird, like he’s discussing their shared emo phase, or something equally as embarrassing. </p><p>“It’s a wonder they’re still alive,” Yunho jokes. </p><p>“Oh, cool.” Jongho looks between them. “Thanks! I’m taking mostly general requirements this semester, but I’ll definitely want some advice when registration opens for spring.”</p><p>How wholesome. In addition to his part-time work mentoring adolescent gays, Hongjoong now has a dubiously heterosexual froshie to lead to greatness. He should get a prize for being so kind and welcoming. </p><p>He should also get a prize for not cutting Mingi’s dick in half and shoving it down his throat. </p><p>“Aren’t you guys gonna go do work?” Mingi demands, stretching his arms over his head and pushing his tits out as he does. Slut! Slut! Slut! Hongjoong wants to yell, hands twitching at his sides. </p><p>“Yeah, we should get started,” Seonghwa says. </p><p>“Good luck!” Yunho says, sitting back down. </p><p>“See you later.” Hongjoong smiles pointedly at Yunho and Jongho through gritted teeth. “Great to meet you,” he adds, just to Jongho, before he and Seonghwa head over to his room. </p><p>He hopes they’re not gonna be too loud, writhing and screaming pointlessly as they clickety-clack their dumb gamer consoles. At least he has his headphones, he thinks. He can block the sounds, even if he can’t erase the visuals he’s already seen. </p><p>He and Seonghwa settle into their customary positions — him on the bed, laptop placed onto his thighs, headphones snug over his ears; Seonghwa bent over the desk. Slipping into concentrated work mode with an ease built through years of practice. 

Hongjoong is also taking a gen req this semester, fucking Stats, and he has a project due tomorrow that he hasn’t even read the instructions for. It has to do with a listogram, or something, which sounds like a Buzzfeed thing, but whatever.</p><p>Seonghwa keeps taking breaks to look at his phone, smile dumbly, text, and put it down. Rinse and repeat. Hongjoong isn’t distracted by it, necessarily, but it’s kind of cute to watch. He’d bet everything he owned — a hot net value of about $50 — that Seonghwa’s texting his little Yeosang. </p><p>Well, not so little. But little in terms of heart. Well, also not that. But cute, in a little way. </p><p>Yeosang is cute. He’s a cute dude. He’s a year younger than him and Seonghwa but he’s not a student, which is really cool. He works full-time at the locally owned cafe downtown, and his meet-cute with Seonghwa was absolutely the most precious thing Hongjoong’s ever had the pleasure to witness.</p><p>They’d been adorable together from the very start, even if Hongjoong was too distracted by the implosion of his own relationship to pay much attention. 

Yeosang has an unexpectedly deep voice and strangely neat and attractive teeth. He’s just a dude who’s vibing with life, and he’s a good roommate. He spends a lot of time in his room, just like Hongjoong, and he eats a lot of chicken, and Seonghwa’s really gay for him, like really gay. And they’re dating. </p><p>Hongjoong loves it. He loves love, and people dating and being adorable and gay. Would love to experience it, one day. </p><p>Anyway. </p><p>He slips his headphones off and shakes his head, ears expanding into the cool air. “‘M getting some coffee, you want anything?” he asks Seonghwa, who shakes his head with a hum. </p><p>He’s looking for the instant coffee in the pantry when a big presence looms behind him, pressing up almost <i>against</i> his back, and snatches something from a higher shelf. “Looking for this?”</p><p>Hongjoong almost falls into the shelves.</p><p>Hot hands come around his waist to steady him. Burning where they press around his middle, keeping him upright and out of the cereal boxes. He follows the shape of the arms, turning his head around to — </p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ, Mingi!” he shouts, and straightens up, turning to make space between them. “What the actual fuck!”</p><p>Mingi steps back before Hongjoong can shove him back with two hands. “Just wanted to help,” he says, rolling his eyes. “And I wanted some Lucky Charms. If you could get a move on.”</p><p>“Gladly.” Hongjoong grabs the instant coffee out of his hands with a snarl and stalks off to microwave some water. He ignores Mingi entirely when he walks by, crunching noisily, and still not wearing a fucking shirt. </p><p>He’d had those bare nipples almost touching Hongjoong’s priceless sweater, the one he’d tye-died in the backyard of this very house two years ago. Hongjoong shivers at the grossness of it. </p><p>His heart is still beating fast, like when he trips a step going down the stairs. Dumb fucking — adrenaline. Dumb fucking big sports asshole. Doesn’t he have, like, practice to go to? Homoerotic showers to take with his “boys”? Coaches to fellate?</p><p>Well, Seonghwa had said his season was over, actually. What a pity. It means Hongjoong will probably be seeing him around the house a lot more than usual, and Hongjoong will probably be coming over a lot too, with all the free time he now has. Being single, and everything. </p><p>Hooray!</p><p>He heads back to Seonghwa’s room with his coffee. </p><p>“Find everything okay?” Seonghwa asks him, yawning.</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>Hongjoong decides not to mention the whole nipple thing, because Seonghwa doesn’t understand the mutual dislike between him and Mingi. In fact he’s often hella irritated by it, especially when they don’t tone it down to acceptable levels of backhanded comments and YOU'RE AN IDIOT eyes. </p><p>Somehow, Mingi has convinced his entire house that he’s some loveable — puppy, or something. Large and cute and fluffy, despite the three strikes of being a) straight, and b) on a varsity sports team, and c) annoying as fuck. </p><p>Yunho’s also “straight” and on the dance team, but he’s not annoying as fuck, so it’s just different. Also, Hongjoong and San are convinced Yunho is not as straight as he might claim to be, with how closely he watches some of Mingi’s teammates' lower regions whenever they’re hanging out at the house. </p><p>It’s neither here nor there. </p><p>“You done?” Seonghwa asks him a while later, sitting back and slipping his headphones out of his ears. </p><p>Hongjoong does the same. His eyes hurt from staring at his screen too long, and even though he now knows what a histogram (herstogram) is, and has even created one based on real data, he’s done with Thoughts for the day. </p><p>“Yeah, hungry,” he answers once he has his headphones off. Ears hurt. Ow.</p><p>“You wanna order something?”</p><p>“I could be obliged,” Hongjoong says. “As long as it’s not Thai.”</p><p>His ex had loved Thai, and it’s not like Hongjoong is emo about it. He’s just been eating Thai almost every week for the better part of a year and he’s tired, oh so tired. </p><p>“Pizza? The usual?” Seonghwa stretches his legs as he scrolls through his phone. “Yeosang’s coming over, by the way. He can give you a ride home.”</p><p>When they emerge from Seonghwa’s room, the others are gone. Out to get liquor somewhere downtown, according to Seonghwa. Quite a relief. </p><p>Hongjoong thinks about offering to leave before Yeosang arrives so they can have date time, but Seonghwa would’ve told him point blank to leave if he’d wanted him too. Also, Hongjoong really doesn’t want to take the bus back to the apartment. He’s tired and still a little on edge from being touched by Mingi, ghost pawprints on his admittedly sensitive sides. </p><p>So they eat together like a nice gay throuple, and Seonghwa licks pizza grease off Yeosang’s chin when Hongjoong goes to get more water, and it’s very cute and fun and doesn’t pang at all, in a throbbing, sorrowful way. </p><p>The rest of the house doesn’t come back before Yeosang and Hongjoong are long, long gone. A second significant relief, Hongjoong thinks, almost falling asleep on the drive back. </p><p>_________________________</p><p> </p><p>Sloshy. Sloshy. </p><p>Bump bump bump. “It’s Jay Park!” Hongjoong shouts, to no one in particular. He’s pretty sure it is Jay Park. Feng Shui, maybe? A good one. Good shit. The room is kind of moving to the beat, tilting and diving as Hongjoong looks at it. Huh. Maybe he’d overpoured that last vodka tonic a little. </p><p>The house he’s at is way too small to be hosting this many people. Hongjoong almost spills his drink like ten times as he tries his best to weave through the crowd. He’s not sure where he’s going. He wanted to — to. He’d wanted — what had he wanted? He sways in place, thinking it over. </p><p>Ah yes! To find Yeosang. He came with Yeosang to this place. Yes. Yeosang —&gt; Yeosang’s friend —&gt; Party —&gt; Alcohol. Hongjoong remembers. </p><p>A very tall woman pushes past him, head turned away, and Hongjoong almost trips as he backs up to avoid spilling his drink on her. He backs up so far he hits something — someone, and hands press on either sides of his hips, holding him in place. It reminds him of something. His skin feels itchy. </p><p>There’s a bulge pressing into his ass, too. Oh, Hongjoong thinks blurrily. Without really thinking about it, he starts to grind back into the person, feeling out the sizable package behind him, which is at least somewhat hard. He’s not against fucking someone tonight — it’d be the first dick he’s gotten since the End, and if not and they just wanna grind, hey, they just wanna grind. </p><p>Or maybe they could make out! Hongjoong is very excited by the idea. He’s so excited that he turns, hoping they can skip the small talk and get right to tongues inside his mouth right now. </p><p>“What the fuck,” he says, and spills his drink all over Mingi’s sweatshirt. </p><p>Is he seeing things. Is he seeing things? He must be seeing things. Hongjoong squints, watching Mingi swear and wipe his hand over his hoodie. His brain is woozy. But that’s definitely Song Mingi, who’s looking up at him with a tight, constipated expression, eyebrows pushed together.</p><p>“Hongjoong, what the fuck,” he says.</p><p>“You were —” Hongjoong struggles to find words. Any words. “You were humping me,” he finishes heatedly. The effect is somewhat ruined by how he sways as he says it, steadying himself with a hand on Mingi’s arm that he immediately removes. </p><p>“You pushed your ass into my crotch,” Mingi retorts. “And this was my favorite hoodie, for fuck’s sake.”</p><p>“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Hongjoong says, and then he feels a gurgle in his stomach and suddenly feels sick. He crouches down on the floor, not caring about the literal hordes of people around them, and holds a hand to his mouth. He’s definitely overdone it. He’s roiling inside like a stormy ocean. “Oh fuck, oh fuck —”</p><p>Startling him, Mingi crouches next to him. “What’s wrong? What’s up, Joong?” </p><p><i>Don’t call me that,</i> Hongjoong wants to say. Like they’re friends. But instead he dry heaves, feeling movement, and tries not to panic. “Th-think I’m gonna puke.”</p><p>“Okay,” Mingi says, not soothingly, because Hongjoong thinks he’d actually puke right there if he did that. Just practically. “I know where the bathroom is. Can you make it, or —” <i>are you gonna vomit onto the floor like an eighteen year old child?</i> Hongjoong hears it, even if Mingi doesn’t say it.</p><p>“Can. Can make it. If — fast,” he forces out, covering his mouth like it’ll slow the build of alcohol-induced illness inside of him. </p><p>“Okay, come with me, okay?”</p><p>He manages to stand and follow Mingi through the crowd. It’s helpful, for once, that Mingi’s so big. Usually he carries himself somewhat awkwardly, like a dog transformed into a horse, but now he’s just forging straight through the mass of bodies, cutting a path that Hongjoong quickly follows.</p><p>The bathroom is a one-er.</p><p>He’s too desperate to care that Mingi follows him inside, shutting the door behind them. He just books it straight for the toilet, bends over and heaves his guts into it. Most of the vomit makes it inside, which is great. Then he sinks down, knees hitting the floor painfully, and pukes again. He feels like crusty scum on the bottom of a barrel that’s been sitting in a storeroom for centuries. He feels like the little punching bag that boxers jab at when they don’t wanna punch the big punching bag. He feels like — woozy. Woozy, head hurts. Nose hurts. Throat raw, tasting like shit. </p><p>Damn. He really overdid it.</p><p>He pukes a little more. Then he sits back and tries to swallow down the nasty taste in his mouth. </p><p>A hand appears beside his head and Hongjoong jumps. It’s holding a black hair tie. “You wanna tie your hair up?” the hand’s owner asks.</p><p>Mingi.</p><p>Hongjoong can’t believe he forgot about him. “What are you still doing here?” he tries to hiss, but it comes out as a sad little rasp. Mingi just watched him throw up into a toilet for five minutes. He probably has vomit on his lips, his careful makeup smudged down his dumb fucking face. And Mingi’s seeing all of it. </p><p>This night could not get any worse, Hongjoong decides. </p><p>“I’m not gonna leave you puking in a stranger’s house.” Mingi sounds annoyed beyond belief. He crouches next to Hongjoong’s pathetic form, frowning at him, and Hongjoong feels — embarrassed. Too seen. And by Mingi. It’s the worst night he’s ever had, Hongjoong updates his decision. He’s flushing, involuntarily. </p><p>"Why not?" he demands. "Your — " he waves a weak hand toward Mingi's groin, "— is hard. Don't you have women to disrespect?"</p><p>Mingi rolls his eyes. "Can you not say dick?" he asks. "Is that against QUAC rules?"</p><p>"The first rule of QUAC is that you don't…" Hongjoong trails off, forgetting exactly what witty comment he'd meant to make. "The first?" Then he gags, one hand dropping down to press over his stomach.</p><p>"C'mon, tie your hair up before the next round," and Mingi's pushing the hair tie into his hand insistently. </p><p>Ngh. Hongjoong lets the hair tie hand fall in favor of groaning open-mouthed into the toilet bowl. He's too fucking drunk to think, there's no way he's gonna manage the motor skills to make a fucking bun. "C-can't…"</p><p>"Fine, I'll do it." Mingi wrestles the band out of his limp fingers and grabs at his hair with fingers that feel huge, twisting the part falling into his eyes into a tiny ponytail. He's pulling hard as he ties it up, and Hongjoong makes an embarrassingly high pitched moan of complaint. </p><p>Oh no. </p><p>"What the fuck was that?" Mingi asks, hands pausing.</p><p>"I wasn't — " Hongjoong tries to find the words to express that no matter how it sounded, he is not turned on by the hair pulling. He really isn't. Mingi is gross. "You're gross," he says.</p><p>"Okay…" The hands disappear. </p><p>Phew, Hongjoong thinks, shifting in his pose of desolation, arms thrown over the toilet seat. That was almost a situation there. Bleurgh. His scalp tingles.</p><p>His hair is tied back now, which actually feels much better, not that he'd ever tell Mingi. If he doesn't wear it up or brushed to the side, his bleached blond locks fall far down his forehead, fringing into his eyes. His roots are super fucking long at this point, but Hongjoong is too Sad to care. It's a statement. Maybe he'll dye it back to brown when he finally gets some dick. </p><p>The hair-tying makes him feel marginally less like garbage as he vomits on top of his previous vomit. His stomach still aches with nausea, twinging unhappily. But after one last choked heave, which is more spit than actual chunk, he sits back and wipes a hand over his mouth, and feels like the worst might be over.</p><p>He wonders where Mingi went.</p><p>As if on cue, Mingi squats once again and presses a full glass of water into his hand. "Can you drink?"</p><p>"You don't have to take care of me," Hongjoong says instead of answering. He's far past the feeling of utter humiliation, but that doesn't mean he's gonna roll over and woof for Mingi's help, lap it all up like he needed it in the first place. Also, it's not — on brand. He's kind of confused. "Why're you taking care of me?" </p><p>He takes the water anyway, and manages to hold down a tiny, timid sip, so he takes another, and another. </p><p>Standing over him sinisterly, Mingi makes a frustrated sound. "I told you, I'm not leaving you like this, here. You're ass backwards on the floor and you're clearly too drunk to function."</p><p>"Can function," Hongjoong says, wiping a hand over his mouth to smooth away extra water. </p><p>"Okay, then how about Seonghwa would rip my throat out if I didn't make sure you were okay? That help?" Mingi sighs. "You're so fucking irritating sometimes. I'm just trying to help you."</p><p>"Save it," Hongjoong says, shuddering at the thought. </p><p>He's about to say a number of choice things, but then someone bangs on the bathroom door. "Yo! Don't care if you're having sex, but the police are coming, so might wanna dip."</p><p>Oh Sweet Lord!</p><p>This night is not equal to all other nights. This night is bad. </p><p>"Can you stand up?" Mingi asks urgently, leaning towards him. </p><p>Hongjoong leans away. "I can," he says confidently, and then falls right back on his ass when he tries it. "Ouch."</p><p>Above him, Mingi makes another, more frustrated sound. "Hongjoong, just let me — " he reaches down and curls his arms under Hongjoong's armpits, then lifts him off the ground. The movement makes Hongjoong's head and stomach spin dangerously, and he moans, in too much pain to not let his forehead drop onto Mingi's damp chest. Oh, right — Hongjoong had spilled his drink all over him earlier. The thought brightens his mind immensely. Then he remembers how he'd rubbed his ass all over Mingi's thing, and he deflates.</p><p>"Can't," he groans. Moving brings back the need to gag, the revulsion in his gut, and he almost wants to cry. "Can't move."</p><p>"We gotta go, Joong." Mingi's hands grip onto his shoulders, and he speaks into Hongjoong's ear. "Didn't you hear? The police are coming. The police," he emphasizes, like he's speaking to a child. Then he sighs, the breath whooshing into Hongjoong's hair where he's still got his face smushed onto Mingi's chest. "Look, I'll help you out. We just need to get to my car, alright?"</p><p>"Mmkay," Hongjoong manages. He lifts his head and immediately regrets it, moaning.</p><p>"Just — " A muffled word, probably an expletive of some kind, and then Mingi half-carries him out of the bathroom, supporting most of his weight with one arm swung around his waist from the side. </p><p>Most people are already gone when they get out. Smart. They probably didn't drink as much as him, Hongjoong assures himself. </p><p>Mingi hauls him into a princess carry when they get outside, looping one arm under Hongjoong's knees and the other under his upper back. It happens very abruptly and Hongjoong makes a sound of complete shock, something like "Nghuh!" </p><p>Very embarrassing and on brand for the night. He feels utterly tiny and helpless and weak, and he fucking hates it. He hates it so much but he's too vulnerable to fight properly about it, and he just hmphs and squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look up at Mingi's face. </p><p>"I really hope no one sees this," he hears Mingi say under his breath, oddly nervous. "This looks so fucked up, ah."</p><p>Serves you right, Hongjoong thinks smugly. Trash goblin.</p><p>It's only when he's being placed into the passenger seat of the grey minivan that he remembers what he'd forgotten. "Y-Yeosang," he says, struggling to right his limbs and sit correctly. "What about...?"</p><p>"Yeosang went out for chicken a while ago," Mingi tells him, buckling him into the seat like an actual child. Hongjoong seethes. He burns. He — "He said he texted you, you probably just didn't see it."</p><p>That's fair. Hongjoong feels around for his phone in the pocket of his jacket and sighs in relief when he feels its hard edges. Phew x 2. </p><p>Then he remembers his head hurts, his throat tastes like vomit, and he's just been carried into a minivan.</p><p>"You can't drive," he accuses Mingi, when he throws himself down into the drivers' seat beside Hongjoong. "You can't drive. You're drunk, idiot."</p><p>Mingi shoots him a dirty look. "Not everyone drinks like they want to stick their face in a toilet," he says. Ouch, too soon. Hongjoong winces. "I had a beer when I got there. Like, four hours ago. I'm fine."</p><p>"Fine," is all Hongjoong says, matching his tone. Mingi rolls his eyes and starts the car, pulling out of the parking spot and onto the road. Which reminds Hongjoong: "Do you know the way to Yeosang's place from here?" </p><p>"I'm not taking you to Yeosang's apartment!" </p><p>Hongjoong starts visibly at the force of Mingi's voice. Ow. His stomach gargles as if in response. Shh, he wills Mingi, wondering if it'll work. </p><p>It doesn't. "Yeosang's is almost an hour away," Mingi continues indignantly. "No. Not happening, Hongjoong. It's nearly four in the morning."</p><p>"Where are you gonna take me then?"</p><p><i>Back to my lair,</i> Hongjoong imagines him saying. Mua ha ha ha!</p><p>He starts giggling before Mingi can answer, picturing him as the villain from the Minions movies. </p><p>Hongjoong is still drunk, okay — he doesn't now how much he drank, but he's still kind of in the danger zone of throwing up, and things are so terrible they're actually becoming funny.</p><p>Finally.</p><p>He feels Mingi's incredulous stare on him like a physical beam of disgust. "Are you — nevermind," Mingi says, exhaling. "Whatever." He drives along at a measured pace, fingers tapping on the wheel as Hongjoong's giggle fit subsides. "I'm taking you to our place."</p><p>That's actually not a bad idea. Again, Hongjoong doesn't grasp time and space very well, but he thinks Seonghwa's house is a lot closer than Yeosang's. And that means he is closer to getting onto a flat surface and dropping off into blissful unconsciousness, which is great, because Hongjoong has suddenly realized that he's very tired.</p><p>"Fine," he says. </p><p>And then he falls asleep with his head propped on the car door, lulled to sleep by the sound of rain beginning to patter down outside.</p><p>He jangles awake sometime later when the car door falls away. "Mnhuh?" he mumbles, blinking blearily.</p><p>"We're here," someone says. Mingi. Gnn. Hongjoong is too tired to sneer at him. He wants to be asleep again, right now. "Wan' sleep," he complains, leaning his head against the back of the seat instead.</p><p>"Not this again." </p><p>Hongjoong makes a sound of surprise when he gets unbuckled and lifted — slowly, this time — into the air. He's now out of the car and moving towards a house. Is that — but he's already close to sleep again, jostled in warm arms like a baby as he gets walked inside.</p><p>He's placed into a bed a few minutes later. A bed? Hm. Nice. Hongjoong burrows into the pillow happily as someone tucks the covers over him. So warm and soft. The pillow smells soapy and woodsy. It's all really nice, Hongjoong thinks, except for the taste of leftover grime on his tongue. </p><p>"I'm leaving some water next to the bed," someone says, but Hongjoong doesn't hear it, conked out and snoring into the pillow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks to anon for the description of mingi as a big angry loyal guard dog<br/>and to acheese for the scaring the hoes line!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hongjoong wakes up Nasty. </p><p>His mouth? Nasty. His head? Nasty. His body? Nasty. </p><p>Groaning, he musters enough energy to roll over onto his back, eyes still closed. </p><p>Then he hears a rustling noise and opens them quickly. </p><p>“Bluagh!” he says, jerking against the pillow and then moaning immediately after. Ow ow ow. He raises a hand to rub over his aching forehead. “What are you <i>doing</i>?” </p><p>Sadly, the pain doesn’t blot out the scene in front of him — Mingi standing in front of the bed, facing away from Hongjoong, hands running through his wet hair as he looks at himself in the mirror on the wall. </p><p>Wearing black boxer briefs. Only black boxer briefs. </p><p>His body is actually ridiculous, Hongjoong thinks angrily, watching him. His waist is extremely fucking small, almost Hongjoong-small, widening up to broad shoulders on top and thick thighs on the bottom. Long horse legs. </p><p>Hongjoong always forgets how tiny Mingi’s waist is, even though the fucker never covers it up. Thanks to dedicated mental training, Hongjoong has never permanently absorbed the reality of Mingi’s physical presence. </p><p>His head <i>hurts</i>. Ow. </p><p>In front of him, Mingi snorts, eyes drifting to Hongjoong through the mirror. “I’m getting dressed, what does it look like,” he says. </p><p>“Why are you —” and then Hongjoong looks around. </p><p>Oh shit. Oh fucking shit — that’s not his room! That’s not his room at all. It’s not Seonghwa’s room either — it’s got big posters of sports people on the wall and one of Rain, the Korean artist Hongjoong’s mom used to listen to when she drove him to therapy. “What the fucking fuck,” he says faintly, head whirling like a fidget spinner. </p><p>“I put some Advil and water on the nightstand,” Mingi says. Then he bends over to pull out one of the dresser drawers, fishing around for something. There are two dimples in his lower back, like thumbprints pressed into concrete. </p><p>Hongjoong’s brain roars, the throb of his headache battling the need to beat the shit out of the bitch in front of him. </p><p>But — pause. If he’s in Mingi’s room. If that’s where he is, which looks to be the case. And if he’s lying in the sheets like a lazy concubine, morning-after style, having <i>slept</i> in Mingi’s stupid bed — </p><p>The pieces of the puzzle are dancing around each other, refusing to fit.</p><p>“Please tell me we didn’t,” he says hoarsely, absolute horror spiking through him. “Please God. We didn’t. No.”</p><p>“What?” Mingi straightens up, turning to Hongjoong as he buttons his jeans over his underwear. He’s frowning. “Wh — oh,” and then his face scrunches into a big dumb grin. Hongjoong hates his smile. “You thought we fucked?”</p><p>Hongjoong twitches, cringing. “Don’t say it, oh my God.”</p><p>“We didn’t fuck,” Mingi tells him, chuckling like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “You don’t remember anything from last night?”</p><p>Thinking it over, Hongjoong finds he remembers: a lot of vodka, some dancing, and...oh. Throwing up into a toilet. And — oh. Did Mingi fucking carry him? </p><p>Carry him! Hongjoong is so full of fury that he’s trembling as he recalls it. Held in Mingi’s ape arms like a little doll. Oh, he’s so angry. He’s furious. </p><p>He forces himself to calm down. “I remember a little,” he says finally. It wouldn’t pay to fight about it now, he tells himself. He’s in a weak position, not to mention his head is literally killing him. Despite how much he wants to slap the fucking grin off Mingi’s face. “Why the fuck did you put me in your bed, pervert?”</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” Mingi says, easygoing in the maddening way of his. “I slept on the couch. Which is good, because I don’t think I would’ve been able to sleep with how much you fucking snore.”</p><p>“I do not snore.” Hongjoong glares, insulted. “You probably snore. Your mouth is always open.”</p><p>“Whatever.” Mingi turns away to primp in the mirror again.</p><p>Hongjoong decides it’s a good time to reach over and drop two of the Advil into his grimy mouth. He chugs the glass of lukewarm water next to it, gulping for a good thirty seconds, and gasps when he’s done. Then he waits in suspense, wondering if the liquid will come right up again. </p><p>It doesn’t!</p><p>He breathes a sigh of relief. He’s still nauseated, still <i>no thoughts head ache-y</i>, but his mouth tastes a little better and his intense thirst has abated, if only slightly. </p><p>When he looks up, Mingi is wearing a white T-shirt and an overlayer of blue button-up, left unbuttoned to flap open on his front. He’s putting some kind of weird paste into his hair, carding his fingers through the dark strands to make them stick to one side. </p><p>He looks awful. </p><p>“Where are you going, disguised as a human being?” Hongjoong asks, lounging back on the bed as he looks on. He’s too lethargic to do the smart thing, which would be to jump up and flee the room immediately. Hey — if he’s going to be in Hell, he might as well get comfortable. “Got a hot date?”</p><p>“I do, actually.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Hongjoong stretches lazily, his appetite for intrigue perking up. “Who’s the unlucky lady?”</p><p>“Her name’s Emma, I think.” Mingi shakes his head like a dog, staring into the mirror, and his hair stays frozen in place. Too much paste, Hongjoong thinks, despairing. “Met her on Tinder. We’re just getting coffee.”</p><p>Boring. “You should wear tighter jeans,” Hongjoong says, and he grins wickedly when Mingi meets his eyes through the mirror. “Show off that nice ass of yours.”</p><p>Mingi makes a choking sound, eyebrows raising up to his hairline. “What?”</p><p>“What?” Hongjoong says innocently. “Women love a good ass. Fat, juicy, smackable ass like that, they’d love to see it.”</p><p>“Hongjoong, what the fuck,” Mingi says, staring at Hongjoong through the mirror like he’s sprouted a second head. </p><p>Oh ho ho. What an unexpectedly fun reaction, Hongjoong thinks, observing how perfectly apoplectic Mingi looks. <i>So he can dish it out but not take it, huh</i>? </p><p>The situation is looking up — Hongjoong may not be able to fight with his body, but his mind is sharp. And if he can get Mingi sounding that discombobulated and dazed with just a well placed ass joke, it’ll quickly become a good day. </p><p>Hongjoong: 40,000; Mingi: Negative Infinity. </p><p>“What? You don’t think your ass is good enough to get spanked?”</p><p>“I’m leaving,” Mingi says, voice cracking. “I’m leaving, goodbye. I hate you.” </p><p>He grabs his phone and keys with rapid, jerky movements, and is stepping out the door in under ten seconds. Amazing. </p><p>“Hate you too!” Hongjoong calls after him, pleased as punch.</p><p>When he’s gone, Hongjoong eases himself into a sitting position on the bed, still smiling. Delighted, even if Mingi’s delicious reaction is probably just due to him being freaked out by a gay dude coming onto him. Mm — the internalized homophobia jumped out. Even Mingi can’t hide it behind all of his so-called “allyship.” </p><p>And flirting with him is gross, okay, but hey — it’s kind of fun, too. </p><p>Hongjoong is so happy he decides he’s gonna take a nap.</p><p>______________</p><p> </p><p>“Mingi told me what happened at the party on Saturday,” is the first thing Seonghwa says when he sees Hongjoong. </p><p>Which is not a very promising sign, given how he’s gazing at Hongjoong in both irritation and sympathy. Something only Seonghwa can achieve: the perfect disappointed father figure Look.  </p><p>It’s been three days since that night. Hongjoong wrinkles his nose, knowing he should have realized that it would come out eventually, with how gossipy their friend group is. Everything always gets out. Even if he’d managed to avoid being seen when he’d crept out of their house that afternoon. Parkour!</p><p>“Hope he made it interesting,” he mutters, rubbing his toe on the ground. </p><p>Seonghwa sighs. “It’s fine, Joong. I’m just glad he was there to help you out.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess,” Hongjoong says, grimacing. “I would’ve been fine if he hadn’t. I can take care of myself.”</p><p>It’s the wrong thing to say — Seonghwa crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows scarily. “Oh, would you have? It didn’t sound like that to me. Puking into the toilet? Barely able to walk?”</p><p>Grr. Hongjoong wishes Mingi could’ve kept his giant mouth shut. “Okay, maybe I drank a little too much,” he concedes, because he knows from experience that’s the only way to blunt Seonghwa’s holier-than-thou righteousness. “But live and learn, right? I’m off alcohol for at least a week now.”</p><p>Another sigh. “You know you can talk to me, right?” Seonghwa says, voice soft. </p><p>Bad! Much worse! PLEASE BE ANGRY AT ME, Hongjoong wants to yell. He hates that tone, hates hates hates it. “Yeah, I know,” he says instead. “Thanks. I’m fine, I just — just overdid it.”</p><p>“Fine.” Seonghwa draws in a deep breath and then exhales slowly. “If you say you won’t do it again, I believe you. I just worry.” </p><p><i>I know you do,</i> Hongjoong thinks, heart thumping. He hates making Seonghwa worry, hates it more than anything, and yet he keeps doing it. Stupidly, some part of him craves light self-destruction. <i>Who knows why?</i> he thinks, glaring straight at the splintered remains of his nearly year-long relationship. </p><p>But nothing’s worth making Seonghwa look like that. “I’m sorry,” he says honestly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I really didn’t mean to drink that much. It just happened.”</p><p>“It’s okay.” Smiling, small and toothless, Seonghwa looks at him. Then he clears his throat — the signal that gay bro time is over, and he’s back on his Chastise Hongjoong agenda. “I hope you’ve been nicer to Mingi, by the way. It sounds like he did a lot for you.”</p><p>Ah, that’s better. Despite the content, Hongjoong latches onto the new subject eagerly. “I guess so? I haven’t seen him much since then,” he says. It’s only been a few days. He’s been busy; too busy to even see Seonghwa until today, buried up to the balls in group projects. </p><p>“I think you should do something for him, Joong,” Seonghwa tells him firmly. “Even just a little thing. I know it’s hard for you to be nicer to him in general, so just — think about it, okay?”</p><p>He’s making it sound like Hongjoong has some kind of condition that forces him to be mean to Mingi. As if Mingi isn’t horrible right back to him, and horrible in general. </p><p>Upon thinking, he supposes that he may have benefited from Mingi’s primitive “help” that night. Not that he would be in worse shape right now, if Mingi hadn’t been around. Just. He probably would’ve had a rougher time of it without him. </p><p>Even if, generally speaking, Mingi is worth about as much as a bent spoon. </p><p>None of this would have any effect on Seonghwa, so Hongjoong just blows air out of his mouth moodily. “Alright. I’ll think about something, okay?”</p><p>Seonghwa nods approvingly, and Hongjoong resigns himself to the reality that he’s gonna have to follow through on this one. Just to make it up to Seonghwa, to apologize for being a dumbass who lacks proper self-preservation protocols. He can do it for Seonghwa. </p><p>First time for everything, right? And then he can go right back to how it usually is. Conscience clear. </p><p> </p><p>_________________</p><p>Okay, so it takes him a while to actually think of a) something he could “do” for Mingi while b) not tearing his hair out in clumps and performing several unasked-for amputations. </p><p>One week after the whole ordeal, he finds Mingi tucked in the group study section of the library. He’s sitting alone at a big, circular table by the windows, frowning at his laptop. When Hongjoong circles closer, he sees a notebook open next to him that seems to contain graphs. </p><p>Hongjoong is pretty sure Mingi is an economics major — maybe finance? Something disgustingly bro-y. He definitely worked for a bank or something last summer. Hongjoong knows because he made a series of droll comments about Marxism in the months leading up to summer break, until Seonghwa made him stop because it was “mean.” </p><p><i>Income inequality is mean!</i> Hongjoong had said, hands on his hips, and Seonghwa rolled his eyes. <i>That’s not the point, Joong.</i>. </p><p>He’d stopped, but it’s still revolting. </p><p>“Hello,” he says awkwardly, standing to Mingi’s side. </p><p>Mingi glances up at him and nods, eyes unfocused and glassy. “Oh, hey,” he says, and then looks back down at the laptop.</p><p>Um??? Hongjoong stares at the side of his head. That’s — what?</p><p>“I’m here to thank you for helping me,” he continues, the words carefully enunciated and very painful to utter. </p><p>Mingi doesn’t even spare him a glance this time. But he does huff a little amused sound with his eyes fixed on his screen. “Don’t hurt yourself, Joong.”</p><p>“I’m serious.” Hongjoong glares at his side profile. This is already not going according to plan — why does Mingi have to make things so hard? He’s trying to be the better person, here. Gah. He shakes himself, forging on courageously. “I wanted to say. You can feat on one of my tracks. If you want.”</p><p>That, at least, gets Mingi to look up at him, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. “What?”</p><p>Better. Hongjoong shifts, feeling his advantage. “I said, you can feature on one of my tracks. Like a few verses. If you’re interested.”</p><p>“Wha — “ Mingi seems to be malfunctioning. He looks even stupider than usual with his mouth open like that. “Wait, are you being serious, Hongjoong?”</p><p>“I guess you’re interested,” Hongjoong says, feeling extremely self-satisfied. “Consider this your thank you.”</p><p>“Wow.” Mingi looks — enraptured. Stars in his eyes. It’s actually a little disconcerting to be looked at like that. “That’s incredible, Hongjoong. Seriously, thank you.” </p><p>Okay, well, he doesn’t need to be that excited. Hongjoong sniffs, suspicious. “Are you being sarcastic?”</p><p>“What? No!” Mingi turns to face him fully, and Hongjoong raises his eyes. “You know I’ve been wanting to do that for forever, dude.”</p><p>Eugh. “Don’t dude me or else I’m rescinding the offer.”</p><p>Mingi puts up his hands, grinning excitedly. Dumb little dog. “Alright, alright. Wow. So, how does it work? Will you just send me the verses, or?”</p><p>“You can write your own,” Hongjoong tells him.</p><p>“Seriously?” Mingi is looking at him in that weird way again. Like he’s stranded in a desert, and Hongjoong’s a hot mirage offering him water. “That’s amazing. That’s, like. Are you sure you trust me that much?” he asks, smiling in this annoyingly sheepish way. </p><p>Hongjoong rolls his eyes so hard he hopes they break. “We’ll workshop it before it’s posted,” he says, and then winces because he didn’t exactly mean to make it sound so — collaborative. Even if that’s what it is. “Not sure why you’re so gung-ho, anyway. I don’t have that many followers. If you’re hoping to get famous, this is not the ticket.”</p><p>Mingi scoffs at him. Scoffs! “You have, like, 200,000 followers on SoundCloud, Hongjoong,” he informs him, like Hongjoong doesn’t know. “Plus a whole fucking lot on Instagram and TikTok. You’re legit famous.”</p><p>“Well, it’s not like —”</p><p>“And you rap about, like, real stuff,” Mingi continues, gesturing widely. Hongjoong has never seen him this passionate. It’s bizarre. “So your followers are engaged, Joong. They follow you because you’re doing, like — social commentary. Because you’re being you.” </p><p>“Thanks?” Hongjoong says after a long moment. </p><p>His brain is working overtime trying to figure out what exactly the angle is here. Why Mingi’s being so weird. Being very intent, gazing up at Hongjoong, and complimentary. Sus, very sus. </p><p>Hongjoong narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t have the time to ferret out Mingi’s real objective with all his strangeness. “Anyway. We can talk about it later. I gotta go,” he says, and turns away with a weirded-out nod. </p><p>“Where you headed?” </p><p>He turns back. “Um,” he says. “I’m actually. Going to Seongbin’s.”</p><p>He doesn’t expect Mingi to frown, twisting in his chair so he can stare at Hongjoong more intensively. “Wait, are you guys getting back together?”</p><p>That makes Hongjoong laugh for a good half minute, bent in half and getting a bunch of dirty looks from the Straights who populate the group study area. “Oh my god, no,” he says when he finishes, straightening up. “Just picking up some stuff I left at the house.”</p><p>“Oh.” Mingi nods. "Uh, do you want company? I’m pretty much done here.”</p><p>Eyes narrowed once more, Hongjoong looks him over for signs of subterfuge. His gut instinct would be to refuse instantly, with vitriol, but. </p><p>But Hongjoong’s trying to be nice, he really is. This would be part of being nice, right? Seonghwa wants him to be nice(r). For a little while. Okay, he decides. It’s just a five minute walk, and anyway, he’s kind of glad to have something, even something as ferociously irksome as Mingi, to distract him from Thinking too hard. </p><p>“Fine,” he says, jerking his head towards the exit/entrance. “Let’s go, sports boy.”</p><p>Mingi asks him a series of questions about his production process as they walk towards Hongjoong’s doom. The questions range from completely inane to actually somewhat interesting, and Hongjoong is a slut for talking about himself and rap, so the five minutes pass pretty quickly. And for once Mingi is actually listening, nodding along like a good little disciple as Hongjoong feeds him wisdom about amateur music production. </p><p>Then they reach the house. </p><p>“He said he’d put it out in a box,” Hongjoong says as they approach, squinting at the doorstep. His stomach is already twinging with memories and feelings. It sucks. He really hadn’t wanted to do this, but Seonghwa and San had advised him to face his fears head on. </p><p>He regrets it now. </p><p>Seongbin was true to his word. Sitting on the doorstep is a file box, unmarked. </p><p>“Small box,” Mingi comments beside him. </p><p><i>Yeah,</i> Hongjoong’s about to say, because it is a small fucking box. </p><p>But then they both turn, because a car has pulled up and stopped in front of the house. And there’s — </p><p>Shit. Seongbin, getting out of the car, face crumpling in annoyance when he sees them. </p><p>Hongjoong’s stomach sinks into his toes.</p><p>“I said you should pick it up before five,” Seongbin tells him, in lieu of hello. </p><p>Hongjoong tries to ungrit his teeth. “I was running late.” </p><p>His ex-boyfriend looks terrible. His hair is coiffed dumbly so it falls to the side in a too-perfect wave. His pants are ill-fitting. His face, worst of all — ugly, scowling. He was always looking at Hongjoong like that in the last month they were together. Hongjoong hated it then, and he hates it now. </p><p>And the dumb little fuck was always so obsessed with his appearance, with his look — Hongjoong can’t believe he ever tolerated dating someone this <i>preppy</i>. Disgusting. </p><p>Seongbin exhales, shaking his head like Hongjoong’s an immensely vexing worm that decided to roll onto his shoe. Then he nods his head at Mingi. “Who’s this?” </p><p>“You know who he is,” Hongjoong says, fully gritted now. “Mingi. Seonghwa’s housemate.”</p><p>He doesn’t dare look at Mingi’s face beside him. This is already so humiliating, Mingi seeing how Seongbin talks to him — it’s not on brand at all. Hongjoong is supposed to be hot and fabulous and gay and perfect, in and out of relationships. He’s not supposed to — he’s not supposed to look small and pathetic, not in front of Mingi. Not again. </p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Seongbin looks Mingi up and down. “You’re the one who was always staring at him.”</p><p>“Seongbin,” Hongjoong warns, feeling desperate. That’s just patently not true, and he’s even more afraid to look at Mingi now, feeling him shift beside him. He’s kind of surprised Mingi isn’t running his mouth already — he’d always started debates (read: fights) with Seongbin whenever they’d been hanging out all together. </p><p>“Well, you didn’t waste any time, did you?” Seongbin looks between him and Mingi, eyebrows raised significantly. Then he turns to Mingi. “Hope he puts out more for you than he did for me, bro.”</p><p>Oh, shit. Hongjoong feels himself flush deep red, embarrassment and anger and frustration and uselessness spreading like an infection throughout his body. Shit. Fuck.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Mingi’s voice sounds lower and rougher than usual, and Hongjoong chances a look at him in surprise. </p><p>He’s standing very still — he’s taller than Seongbin, Hongjoong realizes for the first time. He’s standing still, staring at Seongbin with the grimmest look Hongjoong has ever seen him wear. Hands clenched into fists by his sides. Like a beast, snarling in warning. It’s almost scary.</p><p>Seongbin has never understood a warning. He tilts his head, smiling at Mingi. “Hope you like my sloppy seconds,” he says, soft and vicious. “His ass was — agh!”</p><p>Boom. Mingi’s fist connects with his jaw, the impact of the punch making Seongbin trip backwards, clutching at his face. Hongjoong just — he stares, open-mouthed, totally and completely fucking shocked. Seongbin — punched. In the face. Mingi —</p><p>“C’mon, let's go,” Mingi pants beside him, his hand still raised into a fist. Like he’s ready to beat the crap out of Seongbin some more. “Unless you want me to...?” He shakes the fist, looking at Hongjoong like he’s waiting for direction. </p><p>Like a big, angry guard dog. Oh fuck fuck fuck. Hongjoong feels light-headed.</p><p>“Don’t touch me,” Seongbin gasps, stumbling back farther and looking deliciously afraid. “Don’t fucking —”</p><p>“Nah, let's go,” Hongjoong says, feeling the beginnings of a delighted smile. </p><p>He takes one greedy glance at Seongbin’s punched-in face and follows Mingi as he jogs away from the scene of the crime. </p><p>They get all the way back to campus before Hongjoong stops, gasping for breath with his hands on his knees. Whoo boy. The adrenaline must’ve been pretty damn potent to get him to actually run for more than one singular second. </p><p>Beside him, Mingi isn’t even breathing hard, the motherfucker. </p><p>Hongjoong looks up at him. <i>You just punched my ex-boyfriend</i>, he thinks, kind of amazed. And wow, the adrenaline is really strong, because after two seconds of eye contact with Mingi he breaks off into hitched giggles, gasping and gasping, unable to catch his breath with the force of his laughter. </p><p>Mingi’s laughing, too. He has a high-pitched laugh that usually makes Hongjoong wrinkle his face in contempt, but now it’s just — it’s kind of nice. To be laughing with someone, after his stupid ex got smashed in the face. It’s like Christmas has come early.</p><p>“Fuck, I really shouldn’t have done that,” Mingi says finally, wiping tears out from under his eyes. “But it was so worth it, dude.”</p><p>“Why shouldn’t you have?” Hongjoong’s still breathless, but he manages to straighten into a full stand as he looks at Mingi. </p><p>“Because, I don’t know. He seems like the type to call the police over that kind of thing. Like a bitch, y’know?”</p><p>Oh. Hongjoong frowns. He hadn’t thought of that — but oh. Wait. </p><p>Fucking delicious. He grins evilly. “He won’t call the police,” he says confidently. At Mingi’s confused expression, he cackles, loving the whole thing so much it hurts. “Wooyoung caught him fucking one of the kids in the class he TAs for. It’s why we broke up,” he explains.</p><p>Mingi’s eyes widen as he catches on. “So if you…”</p><p>“If we told anyone, he’d lose his fucking job,” Hongjoong confirms. Ooh, it’s so good. It’s perfectly delightful. “He is a little fucking bitch. He’ll be too scared I’ll pull out the receipts on his ass to say anything.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mingi says, nodding. “Wow.” He doesn’t seem as excited as Hongjoong, for some reason. “That — that really sucks, though, Joong.”</p><p>Hongjoong waves it away. “Ancient history. If he wanted to fuck an eighteen year old, that’s his prerogative.” Blase now, but fuck if he didn’t cry about it for two weeks straight after Wooyoung showed him the pictures. Dumb sluts didn’t even have the sense to go into a closet to bang. </p><p>Doesn’t hurt so much now, he realizes. Whew. This day is good! A good day. </p><p>An almost finished day, he realizes, noticing the sun dipping down. “So, I’m heading back to Yeosang’s,” he tells Mingi.</p><p>“Oh, cool.” Mingi runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh. Should get back home, too.”</p><p>Back to real life. Where they don’t like each other, and Hongjoong is Single, and probably going to be alone forever, and feels like he’s running on a hamster wheel trying to keep up with everything life throws at him. </p><p>“Um, see ya,” Mingi says, when Hongjoong doesn’t say anything, </p><p>He’s feeling weird and off-balance and happy and sad at the same fucking time, a whole Ferris Wheel of emotions, as he watches Mingi walk away. </p><p>And then — “Mingi,” he calls out, exhaling in frustration at how little he knows how to make words. What does he even want to say? Mingi is looking at him, tall and dumb, big lips and open expression as he waits. “Just so you know. That was, um. Really. Thanks. It was cool.”</p><p>“Anytime,” Mingi says, breaking into his cheeky crescent-eyed smile. “See you around, Joong,” and the nickname doesn’t even send Hongjoong into a tizzy of rage. Neither does the smile.</p><p>It was pretty damn fucking cool, Hongjoong thinks, knowing he’s gonna nut later to the memory of Seongbin’s whiny, bruised face. </p><p>He revises Mingi’s general worth up to an unbent, perfectly usable spoon. </p><p>______________</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t fucking tell me how to throw a ping pong ball!” Hongjoong knows he’s yelling, but he can’t bring himself to use his inside voice. “I know how to throw a ping pong ball, Mingi!”</p><p>“Alright!” Mingi holds up his huge, useless hands to defend against Hongjoong’s badassery. “But you’re losing, you do know that, right?”</p><p>“It can’t be that hard.” Hongjoong bites his lip, squeezing one eye shut to aim, and tosses his eighth ping pong ball across the table. </p><p>He overshoots. and the ball plonks sadly onto the floor, rolling who-knows-where. </p><p>They’re using water instead of beer inside the red solo cups. Twenty of them, ten on each side, arranged into two pyramids of debauchery on the repurposed kitchen table. Practicing — for what, Hongjoong doesn’t know. Future stupidity competitions? </p><p>Mingi returns to his side of the table with a sigh. “You don’t have to be good at everything, you know.”</p><p>San looks up from the Twice fancam he’s watching. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that to him,” he says to Mingi, eyebrows raised. “You know you’re talking to Hongjoong, right?”</p><p>“Hard to forget,” Mingi mutters, and Hongjoong shoots him a laser glower of contempt. </p><p>“I’ve never played this game before, okay?” Hongjoong turns to Wooyoung, who’s lounging beside San with his earphones in, laughing at something on his phone. “Aren’t you good at this? Teach me,” he demands, ignoring the huff Mingi makes across from him. </p><p>Wooyoung takes one earphone out, grinning. “Joong, all you have to do is restrain your strength. It’s easy. Or you could just, y’know. Follow your heart?”</p><p>“He’d throw it straight into Mingi’s face if he did that,” San comments.</p><p>Damn right he would. Hongjoong turns back to Mingi and holds his hand out to demand a ninth ping pong ball. And after a long-suffering sigh, Mingi places one into his open palm — a little aggressively, Hongjoong thinks, shooting him another glare as he takes the ball. </p><p>He moves deliberately this time. Breathing controlled, both eyes open. Concentrated. Ignoring Mingi’s sickeningly large presence behind his target. With a deep inhale, he moves his hand back and throws.</p><p>The ball drops into one of the back cups with a lovely tinkle. </p><p>“Ah, yeah! Whoo!” Hongjoong whoops like a happy seal, too excited to hold back his smile as he makes eye contact with Mingi.</p><p>Mingi smiles back, eyes lit up with fondness and amusement as he looks at Hongjoong. </p><p>Oh. What?</p><p>Hongjoong blinks, shaking himself. He turns to glance over at San and Wooyoung. “Did you see that? I did it!”</p><p>“You did it, Hongjoong,” San confirms indulgently. </p><p>“Are you sure you’re 21 years old?” Wooyoung grins at him. </p><p>“At least I’d never played this dumb game before today,” Hongjoong says, scowling back. “Whereas you’ve played it how many times?”</p><p>“Too many times to count, babe.”</p><p>Bleurgh. Hongjoong shivers at the word. Then his phone buzzes against his hip, where it’s tucked inside his jean pocket. He pulls it out. “‘S my mom,” he tells them, waving the phone. “Brb.”</p><p>He goes into Seonghwa’s room to talk to her, because Seonghwa’s over at Yeosang’s getting his dick stepped on or whatever they do together. Hongjoong is pretty sure Seonghwa’s a fucking kinky little sub, and he gets major dom vibes from Yeosang, but anyway — he definitely doesn’t think about cockstepping when he chats with his mom. </p><p>She’s calling to check in, the usual weekly call to make sure he’s doing well (read: taking his meds and not punching the wall) and eating enough. She knows about Seongbin and everything, but he asked her to stop asking about it a while ago, and she doesn’t. Which is nice. Hongjoong talks to her for a good half-hour, listening to her talk about flowers in the community garden and his dad’s back problems until she says she needs to go.</p><p>Hongjoong is lucky he doesn’t have mommy issues — that would really be too much for his squirrelly brain to handle. </p><p>When he re-emerges from the room, the rest of them are huddled in a loose circle on the couch, looking down at a singular phone held in Wooyoung’s hand. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Hongjoong asks, plunking down next to San. </p><p>Wooyoung grins at him like an excited puppy. “We’re editing Mingi’s dick pic,” he says, and holds out the phone before Hongjoong can say a single thing in response. </p><p>And then Hongjoong looks, because he has no self-control, and he sees. Oh god, he sees.</p><p>He sees a fucking huge dick. Circumcised, pinkish, long and thick. Really thick. Rock hard. It's shiny at the top with drops of precome, and there's a long-fingered hand wrapped loosely around the base, holding it up for the camera. </p><p>It’s gotta be fucking — eight inches? Jesus Christ. Hongjoong stares. He feels his mouth hanging open. </p><p>Then the phone clatters down onto the floor, karate chopped out of Wooyoung's hand by Mingi.</p><p>"Hey," Wooyoung says indignantly. </p><p>Mingi is beet red as he picks the phone off of the ground. Hongjoong has never seen him that red — Hongjoong has never seen. He's never — fuck. What the fuck? </p><p>His brain is flat and silent, like a plateaued heart sign, ears full of nothing. </p><p>"You can't just — show someone a dick, without asking them first!" Mingi shoots back, equally as indignant. He's got his hands clamped on his thighs, not looking at anyone in particular, and he's so, so pink. "It's not okay. You need to get consent."</p><p>"But Hongjoong's seen your dick," Wooyoung says, confused. He looks between him and Hongjoong. "What's the big deal?"</p><p>"Why would I have seen his dick," Hongjoong forces out, also not looking at anything in particular. </p><p>"We've all seen his dick. We're workshopping his nudes all the time — oh, wait." Wooyoung's eyes widen. "Um. That's the non-Hongjoong group chat, isn't it? Oh shit."</p><p>"You have a non-Hongjoong group chat?" Hongjoong cuts in, seizing on the opportunity to stop fucking talking about Song Mingi's fucking — cock. Phallus. Jesus. He shivers, feeling crazy, then turns to look at Wooyoung and San. "I cannot believe you guys. Wow."</p><p>"You're not mad at me for showing you his penis, right," Wooyoung whines, knees twisting as he looks at Hongjoong. "We were just trying to help him! This dude asked him for a dick pic, and —"</p><p>"Oh my God," Mingi moans, his hands coming up to cover his flaming hot face. </p><p>The eerie silence from before is back. Hongjoong's ears feel like they're stuffed with cotton. Time bends slowly around him. "A what asked him for what?" he asks slowly, knowing he must have misheard.</p><p>"Um…" Wooyoung looks between him and Mingi again. "San, help," he chirps.</p><p>"Uh, yeah?" San looks over at Mingi, who's still firmly face-in-hands. "Well. He just made a Grindr profile. So. You know?"</p><p><i>No, I absolutely do not fucking know!</i> Hongjoong screams, this close to losing his fucking shit. He's waiting for someone to say “gotcha!” Waiting for the rest of the house to jump out from under the sofa and say, <i> haha, what a funny joke, Mingi huge cock gay??? Your face was priceless, can't believe you thought it was real, Hongjoong!</i></p><p>"Are you gay?" he demands, looking at Mingi. <i>Get your face out of your fucking hands, you coward!</i> </p><p>He's vibrating with something, but it’s not quite like his usual anger — he can't place the feeling. But he sure as hell knows he's gonna lose it if Mingi doesn't fucking look at someone.</p><p>After a second, Mingi raises his head, hands dropping down to his lap. He looks embarrassed as fuck, and Hongjoong would normally squeal with glee at the sight, but. But. "Seriously?" Hongjoong asks him, leaning forward. "Tell me you're joking."</p><p>"I think we may have fucked up," he hears San breathe beside him.</p><p>"Um," Mingi says, then clears his throat. "Not, uh. I don't know? I mean. I think I'm somewhat. Not straight."</p><p>Hongjoong is trembling with the force of his ongoing not-fury. What the fuck is this. What the fuck. "And you made a Grindr profile?" he asks, forcing his tone into something resembling normalcy. He doesn't want to scare the hoes, after all — and Wooyoung and San look pretty damn scared, sitting like they're watching an especially fraught and dangerous game of tennis. </p><p>"Yeah — yes. I wanted to — well, like. Since I don't know. I wanted to see if I could, um, find someone to, like…" Mingi’s eye contact with Hongjoong, which had already been flittery and infrequent, ceases completely as he turns to stare desperately as Wooyoung and San. "Um…"</p><p>"He wanted to hook up with a guy!" Wooyoung cuts in chipperly. "To see if he's really into men. You know?"</p><p>"Hey, maybe Hongjoong could help you," San says. "He does that kind of stuff for the high school kids, right, Hongjoong?"</p><p>Hongjoong stares at him in total shock and revulsion. "I don't fuck high schoolers so they can figure out if they're gay," he hisses. His temple is throbbing. "What the fuck, San."</p><p>"I didn't mean that! No no no, I meant, you could, like, help with the questioning? I don't know. I've always known I was gay." </p><p>"So've I," Wooyoung chimes in, unasked. "But actually, it wouldn't be a terrible idea for you guys to fuck. You have all that angry sexual te — blrgh — " he's cut off by San's hand, slapped against his mouth to stop the flow of garbage. </p><p>San chuckles nervously. "What a fun time this is. Gays coming together to support each other, and such." </p><p>Hongjoong looks murderously at him. </p><p>"Well!" Wooyoung says, dodging out from San's hold. "I think that's our cue to go. You still want to go to the gym?" he asks Mingi and San. "I'll bring my laptop."</p><p>"You're welcome to stay," San tells Hongjoong, standing quickly. "Just lock the door when you're leaving!"</p><p>Hongjoong makes a vague grunt in response. He's sitting with his hands loose in his lap, one leg twitching a strange rhythm on the floor, and staring blankly at nothing. It's not good. He's just — the past five minutes have felt like a scuba dive, water in his ears, roaring pressure all around him. </p><p>He makes accidental eye contact with Mingi as he stands to join the other two, and that's — it's. Just, his face is still pink with embarrassment and his eyes dart to Hongjoong and away just as quickly, hands twisting at his sides. </p><p>Hongjoong doesn't even have the energy to laugh. </p><p>________________</p><p> </p><p>"And then he just shoves the phone right in my fucking face," Hongjoong says, waving his hands in the air. "Can you believe it? I almost threw up. The thing is fucking huge."</p><p>"Can we not talk about cocks at the dinner table," Seonghwa says tiredly. </p><p>Beside him, Yeosang chuckles this small demure chuckle behind one of his hands. </p><p>"See, Yeosang likes talking about cocks at the dinner table," Hongjoong says. "Isn't that right, Yeosang?" </p><p>"Don't answer that." Seonghwa throws Hongjoong a Look. "You didn't make him feel bad about exploring his sexuality, did you?"</p><p><i>So we can talk about being gay, but not having a tree trunk for a cock, huh?</i> Hongjoong rolls his eyes. He bets Seonghwa gets pounded into the mattress and begs Yeosang to call him a dainty little slut when they fuck, if his porn taste is anything to go off of. Hey, he leaves tabs open sometimes when Hongjoong borrows his laptop. </p><p>Anyway. Hongjoong doesn't bring that up, because he's not trying to die. "I didn't shame him for having a massive penis or being potentially heteroflexible," he assures Seonghwa. "He clearly has lots of internalized homophobia. And anyway, he's probably just going to forget about it in a couple weeks. Or whenever a woman looks in his direction again, whichever happens first."</p><p>Yeosang looks amused, but it's Yeosang, so Hongjoong doesn't mind. "I don't think so, actually," Yeosang says lightly. He looks over at Seonghwa. "Didn't you say he's already hooked up with a guy he met online?"</p><p><i>What.</i> Hongjoong’s mind growls, his fingers clenching around his fork. </p><p>Seonghwa nods. "He said he was going to. I think he really wants someone to, you know — "</p><p>"Experiment with?" Hongjoong asks acidly.</p><p>" — figure things out with." Seonghwa looks at him. "Well, what do you want him to do? How else is he supposed to find out?"</p><p>"He should be careful," Yeosang says, serious. "Some dudes on the apps are not good people to meet up with casually. Especially for someone who's never been with a guy before."</p><p>"Fair point."</p><p>Hongjoong frowns. "Why can't he just hook up with some dude on his team? I'm sure they all give each other handjobs in the locker room."</p><p>Another Look from Seonghwa. "He's not out to his team, Hongjoong. He's trying to keep this as far away from campus as possible."</p><p>Ah, the closet. Hongjoong remembers it well — the two seconds he spent there before emerging from it like a fully formed, perfect butterfly, ready to seize the world in his two small, gay hands. </p><p>He guesses that makes sense, though. The sports world is full of Straights, and also Pretend Straights, who are even worse. Even if Mingi is only trying to have a one-off, it could get pretty complicated if details of his sordid homosexual affair were to spread.</p><p>" — if he had a friend who could just, like, give him a lesson or something?" Hongjoong tunes back in as Yeosang finishes speaking. "Someone not on the team, but who wouldn't be weird about it?"</p><p>Hongjoong curls his lip in contempt. It sounds far too similar to what San had said for his own personal snarl alert not to activate.</p><p>"Or he could just watch a bunch of extreme gay porn and get it out of his system," he suggests. "That could save everyone time!"</p><p>"You'd think you'd be a little more sensitive about this, with QUAC and everything," Seonghwa says reprovingly. "Or do you feel like it's different because it's Mingi?"</p><p><i>Of course it's different because it's Mingi,</i> Hongjoong thinks. Mingi is stupid and tall and uselessly oversized, apparently in more ways than Hongjoong ever wanted to know about. Mingi is a big boy — Yeosang's age, even if he doesn't act like it. He's not like the kids Hongjoong works with, he's not — he doesn't look lost and confused when he talks about having a crush on someone he's not supposed to, or worrying about what label he's supposed to use, or who knows or who doesn’t know. </p><p>He doesn't need protecting. He doesn't need help.</p><p>Huh. </p><p>Hongjoong thinks, involuntarily, of how Mingi had looked bent over with his face in his hands. Scarlet. And that night at the party, how he'd glared at Hongjoong when he’d asked why Mingi was taking care of him.</p><p>How Mingi had glared at Seongbin, right before punching him in the jaw. How he'd looked at Hongjoong after. Checking, wanting — </p><p>"I'm going to the bathroom," Hongjoong says abruptly, standing with a clatter of silverware.</p><p>"Okay?" Seonghwa says, looking at him in concern, but Hongjoong doesn't care.</p><p>He doesn't actually have to piss, but he washes his face in the sink, rubbing cool water into his eyes. He's — he's off balance again. Not like he's about to go off the walls or anything, but just weird. Feeling pinched inside, an itch somewhere internal that he can't figure out how to scratch. </p><p>He dries his face with a soft, private sigh, and flicks off the bathroom light as he steps out the door.</p><p>And then he runs right into a warm body. "Gnhkh," he says, then draws back. <i>Oh,</i> he thinks, pinching harder inside. "What the hell, Mingi?"</p><p>It has barely 5% of his usual verve. He's losing his touch, Hongjoong thinks, alarmed.</p><p>Mingi looks down at him in bleary-eyed confusion. His face is pink and smudged with sleep. "What are you doing here?" he asks.</p><p>"What do you mean, what am I doing here? What are you doing here?" Hongjoong scowls up at him, trying to gain back his groove. "We thought you were out. Have you been here this whole time?"</p><p>"I was napping," Mingi says, and pushes a knuckle into one of his eyes, yawning as he finishes the sentence. </p><p>Gross. Hibernating bear. "You — " and then Hongjoong notices the red stain on his neck and gets distracted. Is it ketchup? Blood? He peers closer and — fuck. Oh. "Is that a fucking hickey?" he demands, staring at Mingi in fury. This nasty fucking slut! Really!</p><p>Mingi rubs over the reddish-purple mark, expression awkward. "Uh, yeah?"</p><p>Hongjoong feels the familiar swell of rage, soothing his veins with shots of angry energy. "Well, I hope you used protection," he says frostily, cognizant of Seonghwa and Yeosang in the next room. </p><p>"We didn't actually get that far." Mingi ducks his head, which somehow makes Hongjoong even angrier. "I didn't like — him. He was, um. Pushy."</p><p>Ice replaces the fury. "What the fuck do you mean," Hongjoong says flatly. His ears are ringing.</p><p>“Uh —”</p><p>Hongjoong doesn’t let him say anything. He stalks forward, pushing Mingi back until he hits the wall. "What do you mean? Did he do something to you? Did he — what did he do? Tell me right fucking now, Mingi, or I swear to God —”</p><p>"Hongjoong!” Mingi yelps. He’s looking down at Hongjoong with his mouth parted, eyebrows tight with alarm. "Um. He was just — he didn't really do anything. I just didn't — he wanted to go further, and I wasn't really comfortable — "</p><p>"Come with me," Hongjoong hisses, and he's so full of anger he grabs Mingi's wrist with one hand and pulls him in the direction of Mingi's room. </p><p>"How could you be so fucking stupid!" he shouts, once they're ensconced inside the room, at least two walls and a door away from Seonghwa's ears. "He could've done anything to you! And you just, you what?" </p><p>Hongjoong is so furious he doesn't know how to form words. </p><p>"He was your size, Hongjoong," Mingi says, bewildered. He looks at Hongjoong like he's a thrashing, rabid animal. "Nothing bad happened, we —" </p><p>"But something could have!" Hongjoong presses a finger into his chest. "Huh? Seonghwa would have been crushed, did you ever think of that?" </p><p>"What does Seonghwa have to do with any of this?" </p><p>"Your gay shenanigans," Hongjoong articulates, "are dangerous." He grinds the finger in harder, pressing into Mingi's sternum. "He worries about you. They all do."</p><p>Now Mingi's looking at him like he's speaking an alien tongue. "I don't think it's that deep, Joong," he says, in this calm tone that makes Hongjoong want to foam at the mouth. "And anyway, it's not like I have many options, okay? We gotta do what we gotta do." </p><p>Hongjoong loses it.</p><p>"We can fuck!" he shouts. "I'll fuck you. How's that, huh?”</p><p>Internally, his protocols are all beep-beep no-no bad-bad. He shushes them, staring challengingly at Mingi's now superbly shocked, dumb face. </p><p>"Hongjoong, wh — what?" </p><p>Bristling, Hongjoong finally removes his finger. "I said, we can fuck. Just one time. So you can figure out whether you like men, without all of this — this dumbfuckery." Mingi says nothing, breathing shallowly, and Hongjoong sighs in utter exasperation. "Well? Are you in or not?" </p><p>He ignores the part of him that says, <i>we are very much not in! We would in fact like to be out! Please do not do this!</i></p><p>"Mm. Um. Okay?" </p><p>It may be a terrible idea, but fuck if Hongjoong doesn't love seeing Mingi look like that: stupid, pouty mouth hanging open, fear glittering in his wide eyes.</p><p>Hongjoong steps back with a sigh of satisfaction, ignoring his own overstrung nerves. Not important. He needs to seal the deal right now. "Okay. Thursday at seven. Meet me at Yeosang's — he'll be out with Seonghwa at yoga."</p><p>"Right." Mingi nods. "Okay. Thursday at seven. I will be there. Um. Are you sure this is a good idea, Hongjoong?"</p><p>Hongjoong is not at all sure any of his ideas are good, and least of all this one. He shrugs. "What can it hurt?" he asks. </p><p>"I mean, well. What are you getting out of it?" </p><p>A fair question. What is Hongjoong getting out of this? </p><p>"You, not being chopped up into pieces by a murderer,” Hongjoong says with authority. That doesn’t feel like enough, so he adds, “And maybe it'll make me feel good to help a questioning young man like yourself, who knows."</p><p>Mingi frowns. "I mean, thanks, but I don't want a pity fuck." </p><p>Why does he always have to make things so fucking hard — no pun intended. Hongjoong barely holds in a growl, glowering up at him. <i>Don’t you want your fucking monster cock in my ass?</i> he’d like to say. But he doesn’t. </p><p>"Well, I haven't had a dick that size up my ass, ever,” he says, which is the truth. “And I haven't had anything up my ass in a good while. So it'll be interesting for me, too."</p><p>“Oh, cool.” Mingi blinks at him, pinkness staining his cheeks. </p><p>Back on this embarrassed bullshit, Hongjoong thinks, rolling his eyes. Like he hasn’t been trolling the interwebs for any available male to sink his dick into. Unbidden, his eyes catch on Mingi’s hickey once more.</p><p><i>Pushy</i>, he’d said. </p><p>Hongjoong breaks eye contact, tensing up. “Okay. See you then. I’m going back to dinner.” He doesn’t wait for Mingi’s response before he strides out of the room, slamming the door behind him.</p><p>He hits himself as he walks back to the kitchen, a little slap on the cheek to snap himself out of any lingering rage.</p><p>“The fuck, it’s been like ten minutes,” Seonghwa says when he sits down. “Were you jerking off in there?” </p><p>“Yeah, I was thinking about Yeosang gagging you with his dick.” Hongjoong ignores the sound of horror Seonghwa makes. “Just kidding!” he tells Yeosang sweetly. “I don’t think about that at all, ever. Promise.”</p><p>Seonghwa screams at him for the rest of the night. Thus, again: balance restored.</p><p>Mostly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thursday at seven rolls around on Thursday. At seven.</p><p>Hongjoong doesn’t know why he’s so surprised.</p><p>“Are you wearing cologne?” he demands, moving aside to let Mingi walk past him into the apartment. </p><p>He closes the door and locks it behind him. It’s fucking annoying, but his hands are shaking more than usual, even though he just — specifically and unrelatedly — did an hour-long YouTube meditation. Calm. In 7, hold 5. Out 8. </p><p>He never quite gets the right ratio, but he’s been told it’s the thought that counts. </p><p>Mingi stands dumbly in the hallway, looking awkward. “I just wanted to smell okay, I guess. I can try to wash it off, if you —”</p><p><i>God, shut up.</i> Hongjoong grunts and waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, and marches past Mingi with his breath held. It’s not even that strong of a cologne — forest-y, wood or soil or something, like Mingi’s a wild dog who rolls in dirt. </p><p>He leads Mingi into his room without bothering to give him a grand tour. Not much to see, anyway: Yeosang’s room, the tiny kitchen with one working stove burner, the bathroom that’s generally clean, the living space that neither of them uses. </p><p>And Hongjoong’s room, which had been piled with clothes and papers and tie-dye materials and books until an hour earlier, when he’d deigned to throw all his shit into the closet. It looks rather bare and imposing now, which is good. He’d rather flay his own epidermis than let Mingi get a glimpse at how he lives.</p><p>“You can close that,” he says, nodding to the door, once they’ve reached his room. </p><p>When Mingi turns back, it’s obvious that he’s trying not to look around the room. His face is like an open fucking book, twitchy and nervous. Red in the cheeks again. </p><p>Hongjoong is usually all goo goo ga ga when he looks like that, but in this context it’s slightly problematic. “Do you really want to do this?” he asks, hands on his hips. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“I want to!" Mingi says, fidgeting harder. “I do. Thank you for, uh. For doing this.”</p><p>As if fucking him is a tax deductible charitable donation. God, being stabbed in the spleen would be better than this, Hongjoong thinks. Or at least more interesting. </p><p>“I mean it," he says. “I won’t be mad if you changed your mind. I know I’m like, always angry, but —” </p><p>“You’re not,” Mingi cuts him off, his googly eyes staring earnestly. “You’re not always angry. You’re not.” </p><p>Oh. That kind of — it’s. Huh. </p><p>Anyway. Hongjoong takes his brain in both hands and shakes it like a snowglobe. “Okay, anyway. So if you want to stop at any point, just say stop, okay? And I’ll do the same.”</p><p>Mingi nods quickly. “Yeah, cool. So. How does it work?” </p><p><i>Ugh, virgins.</i> Wait, actually — “You’re not a virgin, right?” Hongjoong asks, horrified. </p><p>“No! I’ve fucked girls. Women.” Mingi rubs a hand over the back of his neck, blushing. “I’ve fucked women. Not in the ass, or anything, but yeah. I’ve — I’m not a virgin.”</p><p>Thank God. Hongjoong sighs an internal sigh of relief, body unclenching back to normal. </p><p>Mingi’s probably fucked a ton of women, Hongjoong thinks, looking him over. Hongjoong has never quite understood society’s physical preferences, but Mingi aligns with a bunch of them — tall, V-shaped, slim waist, looks like he does leg day twice a week at least. Athletic. </p><p>Hongjoong takes in his collared shirt and dark wash jeans with contempt. “I’ve already fingered myself,” he tells Mingi, ignoring the way Mingi jolts at the words.</p><p>God, so easily fucking triggered, this bitch. Mingi's definitely much twitchier than normal. It's aggravating, and it's putting Hongjoong on edge even more than he'd been before. </p><p>“So, uh…”</p><p>“Strip,” Hongjoong tells him.</p><p>Mingi jerks in place like he’s been shocked. “Okay.”</p><p>Hongjoong doesn’t watch him undress. Instead he pulls off his own graphic tee and throws it who knows where. Unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down to his ankles, deciding at the last moment to shake them off entirely. Boxers, too. The last thing he wants is to be tripping over his own feet when Mingi’s fucking him with that horse cock.</p><p>He checks his hole with a couple of fingers, sliding two inside from behind, then three. The angle is super fucking awkward but he clenches around them, feeling the lube squish wetly inside his ass. </p><p>It’s really been a while since he’s needed to prep himself for dick. He and Seongbin hadn’t fucked — or even touched, really — for at least a month before the breakup. “Fucked” meaning Seongbin’s dick in his ass, because Seongbin was a Top and wouldn’t let Hongjoong near his hole, even just a brush during oral.</p><p>Internalized homophobia, in retrospect. Hindsight is 20 fucking 20. </p><p>Anyway. Hongjoong takes his fingers out of his ass and walks over to the nightstand to grab extra lube and a condom. </p><p>When he spins around, Mingi is naked. He's naked, and he's looking at Hongjoong like he'd look at a big tiddy hentai girl. Staring stupidly, mouth wide open. Flushed all over his face and chest.</p><p>Hongjoong doesn’t pay much attention to the ~untouched anime boy~ impression, because fuck — that picture hadn't done Mingi's dick justice at all. </p><p>It’s legit at least a donkey cock, jutting out thick and red between Mingi’s deceptively narrow hips and thicker thighs. Hanging heavy with the weight of Mingi’s arousal, already rock-hard somehow. </p><p>And it’s going in Hongjoong’s ass. </p><p>Hongjoong had been soft as a baby just a second ago, but the sight of a huge, dripping cock is making his head go swirly and his groin feel hot. </p><p>Primitive fucking urges. <i>Who needs a cock that big?</i> he thinks, furious. Stupid useless big dick. Mingi probably can’t cross his legs when he sits down. In fact, Hongjoong doesn't think he's ever seen Mingi sit with his legs crossed. Just splayed wide open, practically daring people to look right at his crotch. </p><p>Jaw clenched, Hongjoong marches to the bed and bends over it, his hands propped on the mattress. </p><p>“Come over here,” he grits out, when Mingi doesn’t make a move. </p><p>It’s not that hard, he wants to say. Dick —&gt; hole. Push push push. Come. Pull out. Over.</p><p>When he feels Mingi's looming presence, Hongjoong hands him the condom without looking back. “I trust you know what to do with this,” he says, like the airily confident gay he is.</p><p>The quiet of the room is almost eerie. It’s broken only by the sound of Mingi's mouth-breathing and the crinkle of the condom wrapper, the soft smooth noises of it being smoothed over Mingi’s ridiculous shaft. </p><p>Hongjoong is lucky he’d had the foresight to get XLs. Even if he’d had to deal with the pharmacy cashier’s dumb fucking amused grin — <i>no they’re not for me please Go Fuck Yourself,</i> Hongjoong’s expression had replied. </p><p>“You want to, like this?” Mingi already sounds breathless.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Hongjoong asks nicely, not grinding his teeth at all. </p><p>“I mean, you want to fuck standing up?”</p><p><i>That’s what it looks like to me!</i> Hongjoong bites his tongue. “I’ve planned for two positions, okay?” he says. “Just put your cock in me. Go slow. I’ll tell you when you can start the actual fucking.”</p><p>He assumes Mingi nods or something, too dumb to realize Hongjoong can’t see him. </p><p>His galaxy brain has envisioned this perfectly — he’ll get fucked from behind, avoiding eye contact with Mingi’s sweaty face as he spears Hongjoong on his dick. From behind but not doggy style, which Hongjoong’s always fucking hated. Too vulnerable. Too exposed. </p><p>He’s not fully bent over like this, which is nice. Ass pushed out just enough for a dick to enter, but not showing the whole world his hole. </p><p>He jumps when he feels a hand press loosely onto his hip. </p><p>“Shit, you okay?” Mingi asks quickly. </p><p>Grr. Hongjoong shifts, hands clenching in his sheets. This whole innocent routine is really fucking irritating. And to make matters worse, he already has a semi just from the thought of being touched. Like <i>he's</i> the gay sex virgin and not the oaf behind him.</p><p>“I’m fucking fine, Mingi," he huffs. "You haven’t even started fucking me yet. Christ.”</p><p>“Okay, okay. I’m — I’m gonna do it now.” </p><p>A sharp inhale, and Hongjoong feels a cockhead pressing at his rim. It feels huge. He has to purposefully slow his breath, forcing himself to calm down, as Mingi pushes his mushroom head inside. </p><p><i>Oh fuck fuck fuck.</i> Hongjoong bites his lip so hard he’s afraid he’ll pierce the skin. Fuck that’s big. That’s so fucking big. </p><p>He stays as still as possible, breathing shallowly, as Mingi thrusts inside. Mingi goes nice and slow like Hongjoong had asked, both hands gripped around his hips. Not hard, just — holding Hongjoong, steadying him as he seats his cock inside Hongjoong’s hole. </p><p>“Are you in yet?” Hongjoong asks. He’s trying for snide, but his voice breaks on the last t.</p><p>“Oh — oh fuck, oh my God, Hongjoong, <i>fuck,</i>” Mingi whimpers sharply, bottoming out inside him. His hands are trembling on Hongjoong’s hips. “Are you — are you good,” he pants. </p><p>Stupid question. “Put some more lube on your cock,” Hongjoong grinds out. “And don’t fucking move until I tell you to.”</p><p>Mingi reaches forward to grab the bottle on the bed, and <i>ngh</i> — Hongjoong almost lets a groan slip out, the movement jostling Mingi’s cock inside him. Hitting spots he honestly hadn’t known fucking existed, filling him up way more than any cock he’s taken before. </p><p>Fucking shit. Maybe he should’ve given this more thought. </p><p>Mingi squeezes the lube bottle, dripping wet liquid onto Hongjoong’s hole. Hopefully coating his dumb cock where it’s splitting Hongjoong open, too. Forcing a deep inhale, Hongjoong clenches and relaxes around the dick in his ass, trying to adjust to the stretch instead of rejecting it. </p><p><i>Shh,</i> he tells himself. You’re not going to moan over Mingi’s stupid giant dick. It’s a challenge, so just focus like usual. Big brain energy.</p><p>Hongjoong’s gone mostly soft, but his dick fills back up pretty fast as he strokes himself the way he likes it, trying to distract himself from the burning. </p><p>“Is it like a pussy?” he manages to ask. </p><p>“It’s different,” Mingi tells him. His voice is strained, like he’s holding 300 pounds on his back. “It’s — fuck. It’s so tight, oh my God.”</p><p>Hongjoong can’t help but feel a lick of pride at how <i>gone</i> Mingi sounds, just from standing there with his dick up Hongjoong’s ass. 

Well, he probably wants to fucking move. Hump. Thrust that pointless appendage and bat Hongjoong’s guts around like a piñata. You know, <i>fuck.</i></p><p>Hongjoong would, if he were stuck up a tight hole. “I’m surprised any woman lets you near her genitals with this thing, let alone inside," he says.</p><p>“Sometimes they don’t,” Mingi says matter of factly, if a little breathless. Like it's not ridiculous to have a cock too uselessly big to put inside anything. “Does — does it hurt? Is it supposed to be this tight?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” Hongjoong grits his teeth. “Did you expect me to be loose or something? I’m not that much of an anal whore, sorry to disappoint.”</p><p>Mingi ignores the bait, though his hands do jerk when Hongjoong says the W word. Poor widdle baby. Hongjoong wants to roll his eyes. </p><p>“Just. It looks — looks way too big.” Mingi sounds stunned. “Like, it...” Hongjoong hears him exhale deeply behind him. “It looks kind of impossible, Hongjoong.”</p><p>He doesn’t know why that makes him squeeze around Mingi’s cock, precome blurting out of his slit. </p><p><i>Impossible.</i> He knows what Mingi must mean — nothing that big is supposed to go inside anyone, especially not someone Hongjoong’s size. It must look porn-worthy, his relatively tiny ass taking in such a thick cock.</p><p>He shivers. “I’m fine. You can fuck me now.”</p><p>"Ah, o-okay," Mingi says, voice trembling. </p><p>Mingi does fuck him, at least. He draws back, cock dragging heavy inside Hongjoong's hole, and thrusts inside again, rocking Hongjoong forward despite how much he's trying to keep still. </p><p><i>Fucking</i> — Hongjoong lets his head drop down, teeth clamped into his lower lip to hold in any sounds. Idiot jock boy dick. So fucking huge, battering right into his prostate, making his cock jerk against his stomach despite the size.</p><p>"Oh, oh my God," Mingi grunts, like he can't keep quiet to save his life. Which Hongjoong knows he can’t. "Oh, fuck, Hongjoong, fuck."</p><p><i>Yes, that is what you are doing,</i> Hongjoong thinks meanly. </p><p>He can’t muster enough focus to get really annoyed. It's like Mingi's slow, deliberate thrusts are fucking the irritation right out of Hongjoong's brain, leaking out like the lube dripping around his hole. </p><p>God. Hongjoong hasn't touched himself since the agonizingly slow entrance, but fuck if he isn't practically dripping precome onto the sheets. It’s infuriating. </p><p>"'S good?" Mingi pants, his cock pushed in deep. "Feel good? Is it, ah, good for you?"</p><p><i>Oh my God just fuck me!</i> Hongjoong wants to scream. He's not there to feel good; he’s there to — what is he there for again? </p><p>Hard to remember. Mingi’s cock feels like it’s everywhere inside him, a heavy, thick presence. His prostate is aching, pulsing pleasure every time Mingi slides against it, shivery warmth spreading through him. </p><p>“It’s fine,” Hongjoong bites back. </p><p>“Mmm, yeah,” Mingi groans like he didn’t hear, fucking him with the same measured thrusts. “Can I — can I touch you, or?”</p><p>Absolutely fucking not. Hongjoong clenches tight around him without meaning to, and Mingi groans once more. His head drops onto Hongjoong’s neck from behind, blowing hot breaths on his skin. Eugh. </p><p>“I’ll touch myself, thanks,” Hongjoong says, only a little breathy. Score!</p><p>“Hn — okay, okay." Mingi is panting so hard Hongjoong barely understands him. “I don’t think I’m gonna — don’t think I can make it to the second po — position, I’m gonna — “ he breaks off with a low, desperate sound, hands tightening and loosening on Hongjoong’s hips. “God, it’s too fucking tight, so good, Hongjoong, I can’t —”</p><p>Hongjoong tries to feel outraged, he really does. The slut is gonna come after what, two minutes of humping Hongjoong’s ass like a puppy? And Hongjoong is just going to be left leaking against his own sheets, all wet and open like a public use hole?</p><p>“You better fucking wait until I come, Mingi,” he growls, but it has the opposite of the intended effect. </p><p>Mingi moans, high-pitched like a wounded bird, and thrusts into him once, twice, thrice, face buried into Hongjoong’s fucking neck as he practically sobs through his orgasm. “Oh fuck, Joong, I — I…”</p><p>His skin feels damp where Mingi’s mouth is pressed into it. “Get off me,” Hongjoong says forcefully. </p><p>“Whuh?”</p><p>“I said get off me,” Hongjoong hisses, shifting under Mingi’s weight. </p><p>“Okay, okay.” </p><p>At least Mingi has the sense to pull his cock out slowly. When he’s finally out, it feels like Hongjoong’s lost a limb — his hole clenches painfully around nothing, stretched open and empty. Wet even though Mingi came into the condom, not inside him. </p><p>“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Mingi asks, in this worried, shrill tone that makes Hongjoong want to deck him.</p><p>His cock is so fucking hard he feels like he’ll shoot off from one touch. “‘M fine, just wanna come, since you couldn’t fucking wait.” </p><p>Hongjoong doesn’t care enough to make it sound nice. He pushes himself into a standing position, back twinging from being bent over for so long, tensed up with a cock that big inside his ass. </p><p>Before he can put a hand to his dick, Mingi presses on his shoulder tentatively. “Hongjoong, wait, uh. Can I help?”</p><p>Eye roll. “I think I can handle it,” Hongjoong says, and slants an angry look over his shoulder. “You’ve really done enough.”</p><p>Distantly, he realizes he’s being a little mean. Well, a lot mean. It was Mingi’s first ass; it’s not exactly surprising he shot off in such a short time. That he couldn’t restrain himself enough to not come in less than five minutes, fucking into Hongjoong’s outstanding hole. </p><p>Actually, it's kind of flattering. And it makes Mingi look like a damn fool too, like a Victorian maiden who's never stuck his cock in anything but his own fist. Blowing his load as soon as he gets inside a warm hole. </p><p>“Please, Hongjoong,” Mingi pleads, his voice reedy. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t. But can I — I could blow you, if you wanted? Please?”</p><p>Mm. Song Mingi begging to get his mouth fucked? </p><p>If he were any less close to coming, Hongjoong would’ve spat right in the face of that image. Now it makes his cock twitch, hard and throbbing from being on edge for so long. </p><p>“You think you can manage not to bite my fucking dick off?” he demands, turning around, and oh. That’s, huh. Hm. </p><p>Mingi is standing there with his puffy lip held in his teeth, blinking forlornly down at Hongjoong. Looking like a kicked puppy. His dick is softening, semi-hard and shiny, free of the condom. </p><p>Hongjoong really hopes he had the sense to put it somewhere Hongjoong can find it. Nasty fuck. </p><p>“I can try. I’ve never,” Mingi swallows, his pointy Adam’s apple bobbing. “I can try, really, if you want.”</p><p>Hongjoong's dick takes one second to decide that yes, it would like to be sucked.  Even if the cocksucker is an oral virgin, and fucking annoying to boot.</p><p>“Alright,” he concedes, baring his teeth in a grin. He tilts his head when Mingi doesn’t move. “What? Too much of a man to suck cock on your knees?”</p><p>“Oh,” Mingi says, eyes wide. “Uh, no.” </p><p>He kneels in front of Hongjoong. And, okay, the whole situation is fucked up and Hongjoong’s ass still burns, but damn. Mingi on his knees? Hongjoong’s erection almost hitting him in his dumb face? </p><p>It’s a beautiful fucking visual. Unexpectedly so. </p><p>“I don’t really, y'know.” Mingi stares at his cock like it’ll give him instructions on how to proceed. “Uh. How should I...?"</p><p>Hongjoong strokes himself leisurely in front of Mingi’s face, enjoying the view so much it almost hurts. Yeah, this is more like it — Mingi crouched down awkwardly, his dinosaur body folded into something small and meek. Looking at Hongjoong’s cock like it’s alien and strange, kind of scary. </p><p>Baby’s first blowjob. Oh, it’s so good it’s making Hongjoong <i>crazy.</i> </p><p>“Lick the head,” Hongjoong tells him. </p><p>Blinking, Mingi leans in and swipes his tongue at the head of Hongjoong's cock, licking right over the slit. </p><p><i>Hngh.</i> It's good, the feeling of a warm, wet tongue on him. Hongjoong would very much like that tongue licking all over his cock right fucking now, regardless of how much its owner makes him want to burst into rageful flames. </p><p>It’s been a while since he’s had his dick sucked. Actually, it’s been — probably more than six months, because Seongbin only did it when he’d wanted Hongjoong in the mood to get fucked, and even then only for a couple measly, half-hearted minutes.</p><p>“Okay, now suck it. Just the head.” Oh God, <i>fuck.</i> Hongjoong tries not to visibly react, but Mingi’s stupid mouth feels god-tier wrapped around his dick. Snug and hot and wet. “No teeth,” Hongjoong reminds him. Nicely, of course. </p><p>He’s being a good teacher, okay? Letting Mingi blow him, eager despite his lack of experience. If Mingi does decide he likes gay shit, at least his next partner won’t get their dick bitten off. </p><p>Mingi licks hesitantly at the cock in his mouth, staring cross-eyed at the shaft in concentration. He looks like he’s using every available brain cell to not sink his teeth into it, which is a fucking relief. Enthusiastic, despite the lack of knowledge, and <i>ngh</i> — he's providing a truly gorgeous cushion of wet suction around Hongjoong’s leaking cockhead. </p><p>Ever the good Samaritan, Hongjoong decides he deserves some light validation. "Good, just like that,” he tells Mingi. </p><p>Mingi’s eyes blink open at the words, and he looks up at Hongjoong with his mouth full of cock. </p><p>Oh fuck, that’s — oh <i>fuck</i>. Hongjoong shakes with the force of the lust that smacks through him at the sight. God, he’s trembling. Fucking gross, but Jesus fuck. </p><p>He forgets what he was going to add, eyes fixed on Mingi’s face. </p><p>The problem is, Hongjoong <i>wants</i> so bad he’s becoming deranged. His barely-there abs are tensed up with the effort of not fucking deeper into Mingi’s big mouth, wrapped so nice and tight around his throbbing dick.  </p><p>Motherfucking Christ. Hongjoong forces himself to breathe deeply, sucking in air through his nose. “You can try taking more, if you want,” he says. Generously.</p><p>Cheeks red, Mingi sucks Hongjoong deeper into his mouth. Too much, too quick — he pushes up too far and chokes, his untrained throat gagging around Hongjoong’s cock. </p><p><i>Hn</i>, fuck. Hongjoong makes himself freeze like a statue before pushing Mingi’s head off his cock with a light hand on his forehead. “No deepthroating on your first dick, sweetheart,” he says, and then wants to hit himself in absolute rage.</p><p>He'd meant it ironically, but fuck if it didn't sound sincere. God, his horny idiocy — so fucking embarrassing. Anyway — chill chill chill. Act normal. </p><p>He plays it off, even as Mingi gazes up at him, eyes wide. “You okay?” Hongjoong asks him.</p><p>“Mm, yeah, ‘m good, good,” Mingi pants. </p><p>Well, he sounds wrecked. Raspy, like he's just had a cock in his mouth — which he has, but still. And he's sitting like a fucking dog, staring up at Hongjoong like he's waiting for the teacher's instructions. Lips shiny and redder than usual. </p><p>None of it is helping Hongjoong’s stupid lust brain at all. </p><p>He doesn't think it's entirely his fault. It's fucking difficult to focus — his dick's been hard for eternity, aching painfully, so turned on it doesn't feel healthy. </p><p>And it seems like he's not the only one.</p><p>"Are you fucking hard?" Hongjoong demands, eyes caught on the erection between Mingi's bent thighs. </p><p>Yeah, that's clearly an erection. His dick is waving a cheery hello at Hongjoong, like it didn't just come inside Hongjoong's ass like ten minutes ago. Or has it been longer? It feels like it's been longer.</p><p>"I guess so?" Mingi shifts under his gaze, the redness in his cheeks spreading out to his neck and chest. "I don't know, it just. Happened."</p><p>Just happened. Like your average mostly straight dude, who gets hard just from having a dick in his mouth. </p><p>Hongjoong cannot believe his eyes. "Okay, well," he says, really out of his depth and also really fucking aroused. "I'm gonna — " He wraps his hand around his dick, spreading Mingi’s spit along the shaft. "So you can too, if you want. Don't care."</p><p>"O-okay." </p><p>Mingi doesn't get up or anything, which is fine. Fine and good. Hongjoong is already 99% of the way to nutting, and now he doesn't have anywhere to look but Mingi's kneeling body. Specifically, the muscles shifting in Mingi's arm as he fists his own cock, his eyes closing with a groan at the sensation. </p><p>It's not exactly how Hongjoong had envisioned things. </p><p>He's too turned on to care. He pumps himself viciously, thumb pressing hard against the head on every upward stroke. His ass is still aching, which isn't <i>not</i> a turn on. Surprisingly. He feels prickly all over, but not in a bad way — like the aftershocks of touch, skin pinging to signal he's had another person there, and there, and there. Feels nice.</p><p>"Where are you gonna," Mingi interrupts him, eyes cracked open to stare up at Hongjoong. His hand is paused, curled but unmoving around his cock. "Hongjoong?"</p><p>Hongjoong wants to throttle him. "What do you mean," he grinds out, stopping his own strokes. God, he'd been so fucking close — </p><p>"Where are you, ah, gonna come?" </p><p>Oh. "Where do you want me to come?" he asks, his mind already conjuring up all sorts of images against his will. </p><p>Mingi with his hair wet with come. Mingi with come striping his face, spilled onto his tongue. Come on his stupid pouty lips. </p><p>"Wherever you, uh, wherever you think is good," Mingi pants, flushed deep red. "Uh, I've never. I don't know…"</p><p><i>I'm going to die,</i> Hongjoong thinks desperately. "Open your mouth," he orders impatiently. "Stick out your tongue. Yeah, that's good.” He feels his breath come faster, fingers wrapped tight around his poor cock, jerking himself off roughly. Literally nothing is going to stop him from coming this time.</p><p>Below him, Mingi has his lips parted like a baby bird waiting for food. Tongue lolling out, like Hongjoong had asked. <i>Good boy,</i> Hongjoong thinks, feeling unhinged. Mingi looks so fucking dumb like that, waiting to swallow Hongjoong's come. Getting off on it, his hand moving quickly on his cock, moaning as he fucks his fist. </p><p>Hongjoong comes onto his tongue, gasping. Stroking himself through the orgasm, which feels so fucking intense his body quakes with the force of it. Shots of come on Mingi's tongue, his lower lip, his chin. God fucking damn.</p><p>After a few rough strokes, Mingi arches up and groans, spilling into his hand.</p><p>
  <i>So that's what he sounds like when he comes.</i>
</p><p>Hongjoong erases the thought immediately. </p><p>His chest is heaving like he’s just run a marathon, his lower half warm with waves of lingering pleasure. Actually, his whole body feels warm — hot, vaguely sweaty. His hand is goopy with his own fucking semen. </p><p>Beneath him, Mingi is still fucking — looking at him, panting like a dog in a hot car. He's got splotches of Hongjoong's come on his face, and as Hongjoong watches, he licks come off his open lips and fucking <i>swallows.</i></p><p><i>No no no.</i> Hongjoong’s cock spasms, even mostly soft. </p><p>That’s fucked up. That’s really — that’s fucking nasty. Mingi looks filthy, mouth fucked, come on his face. He’s on his knees, still. Why is he still on his knees? Why is he still <i>looking</i> — </p><p>Outside the room, Hongjoong hears the lock click, the front door swinging open with a whiny noise. </p><p>
  <i>Fuck, Yeosang.</i>
</p><p>“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. Mingi nods vigorously. </p><p>He hears the door close with a snick, and then Yeosang’s clonking into the apartment, humming a strange little tune like he often does. </p><p>Fortunately, Hongjoong knows Yeosang’s post-yoga routine quite well. He waits, listening for the sounds of Yeosang opening the door to his room, throwing his shit inside, and strolling over to the bathroom. </p><p>A moment later the shower starts running, and Hongjoong lets out a brief, frenzied sigh of relief.</p><p>“Should I go?” Mingi whispers, shifting on his knees. </p><p>On his knees! For fuck’s sake. Hongjoong glares at him for what feels like the first time in ages. “Yes, you absolutely should,” he answers. Nice time is over — now it’s <i>avoid our entire friend group knowing we fucked</i> time. “Be quiet, alright?”</p><p>Mingi nods again. “Um, do you have a tissue or something?”</p><p>Hongjoong realizes they’re both holding come-splattered hands away from their bodies, like two birds with broken wings. </p><p>Unfortunately, Hongjoong is all out of tissues. But he does find a sock half-hidden under his bed that he uses to mop up his own come, before throwing it over to Mingi. He’d spent most of the planning period gathering protective supplies, and anyway, he’d assumed Mingi would come into the condom, obviating the need for fucking Kleenex. </p><p>After wiping his hand and face off, Mingi gets dressed in the tiniest font Hongjoong’s ever seen. Slow, tentative movements as he finds his shirt and jeans and pulls them over his big exposed body. He’s fully dressed in under a minute, and then he turns, blinking dully at Hongjoong once more. </p><p>“I’ll walk you to the door,” Hongjoong whispers to him. “Don’t make any noise.”</p><p>“Okay,” Mingi breathes back. </p><p>Yeosang’s playing loud 2000s Rihanna while he showers. Thank you, Yeosang! For taste, and also for covering the sound of his and Mingi’s footsteps as they tiptoe to the door. </p><p>Hongjoong unlocks the door with a hand that's somehow shakier than before. Probably from the fear of being Discovered, with a capital D — which is, in retrospect, an ill-timed mental joke. </p><p>“Go,” he hisses to Mingi, who’s just standing in the doorway. “Do you have something to add, or what? I accept tips up to five business days post-service.”</p><p>Mingi just looks at him, eyelids fluttering nervously. He should be fucking nervous, Hongjoong thinks, wanting to give him a real reason to be nervous. “I just — thanks, Hongjoong,” is all he says. Like that’s worth the risk of blowing this whole thing open for the world to see.</p><p>“Don’t mention it.” Literally. Hongjoong pushes him out of the doorstep with a firm hand. “See you around.”</p><p>He closes the door in Mingi’s face and locks it. Then he sags in place, exhaling a huge, long breath he hadn’t known he’d needed to let out. </p><p>Well, that went about as well as expected. </p><p>Hongjoong resets his room with automatic movements, placing everything back where he’d had it. Robotic, but his mind isn’t there. Maybe it’s something about having come — he can’t honestly remember the last time he’d thought about sex, about masturbating. Maybe his mind is stupid from the potent aftereffects of ejaculating onto his fingers. </p><p>It really had gone about as well as it could have, he muses, taking a break to lie on his bed. Mingi had gotten to fuck an ass, and he’d gotten to suck a dick, partially, and to — taste come, other than his own. Now he can take his time choosing more appropriate men to fuck, without rushing to the first dude who looks twice at him. </p><p>Hongjoong does feel quite like a philanthropist. Selflessly teaching a fellow queer his way around physical pleasure, building a foundation for safe and enjoyable sex. </p><p>Hm. Mostly selfless, anyway.</p><p>Whatever. He has work to do. </p><p> </p><p>_______________</p><p> </p><p>“How’s your drink?” Yeosang asks him, nodding to Hongjoong’s already finished Americano. “Too sweet?” </p><p>“No, it’s perfect, thank you.” Incredibly fucking perfect, actually — Hongjoong might just order another one, or two. Depending on when he finishes this essay, that is. </p><p>Yeosang drops into the chair opposite him, smiling. He’d been kind enough to slip Hongjoong a free drink, sliding it surreptitiously across the counter during a busy moment. And now it seems like he’s taking a break, three hours — four hours? — into his shift. “Aw, hard day?” he asks, voice sympathetic. </p><p>“Yeah, just this fucking essay,” Hongjoong says, slumping over his laptop. “Due in two days, five pages, and I barely have an outline. And I’m not doing super magical spectacular in the class, either.” He groans, rubbing at the headache he can feel beneath his forehead. </p><p>“That really sucks. Anything I can do to help?”</p><p>Yeosang is really nice, Hongjoong thinks. Heart-eyes to Yeosang always. “Don’t worry about me,” he says dismissively. “How’s your shift going? Looks less busy,” he adds, glancing around.</p><p>Huh. Somehow, he’s the only person here.</p><p>“It’s good, because it’s over.” Yeosang grins at him. “Seonghwa’s on his way to pick us up. Did you forget? Yunho’s dance show?”</p><p>“Dance competition,” Hongjoong corrects absent-mindedly, and yes, he had forgotten. What fucking time is it? It can’t already be — but it is. He checks his phone and yeah, it’s nearly 7:30 pm. They’re going to be late if Seonghwa doesn’t get here in the next minute.</p><p>“So you’re still coming?”</p><p>Shit. Hongjoong blinks at him for a second, still processing. Then he leaps up, grabbing at his shit to throw it in his bag. “Fuck, he’s going to kill me if I hold you guys up,” he whines. “Fuck fuck fuck.”</p><p>The Lord has taken a break from Testing him to Bless him, it seems. Seonghwa pulls up outside the cafe right as Hongjoong stuffs the last textbook in his backpack, and he and Yeosang book it out to the sidewalk as fast as two gays can run. Which is somehow slower than they can walk — anyway, Hongjoong doesn’t do math. </p><p>“Yeosang, you can get in the front,” Seonghwa calls through the open window. “Hongjoong, the back.”</p><p>Ugh. Boyfriend privileges.</p><p>Hongjoong pulls open the back door and sees — fuck no. Oh fucking hell no. </p><p>Mingi, staring up at him. His long legs are bent uncomfortably, knees knocking into the seat in front of him. Jongho is sitting next to him, and next to Jongho is Wooyoung, who’s got San perched on his lap. </p><p>It’s very illegal, but they’ve done it a million times. Well, the sophomores have. They have to, since Seonghwa’s car is a five-seater.</p><p>“Move over,” Hongjoong hisses. </p><p>“Hongjoong, come on.” Seonghwa glares at him from the front seat. “Sit on his fucking lap, we don’t have time for this.”</p><p>“Why can’t he sit on Jongho’s lap?” Hongjoong demands, arms shaking in outrage. “Or vice versa?”</p><p>“We’re not making a freshman sit on someone’s lap, Joong,” Seonghwa shoots back. “And he’s new, he doesn’t know us that well.”</p><p>Grrr. Hongjoong doesn’t know who he wants to snarl at more, Mingi or Seonghwa or Jongho, who’s really innocent but is looking so scared that Hongjoong wants to punch someone. He’s not scary, okay! He just doesn’t want to sit on Mingi’s lap.</p><p>“Just do it, okay? If you make us late because of this, Kim Hongjoong, I swear to God —”</p><p>He sits on Mingi’s lap. </p><p>He sits rather aggressively, too, dropping his ass onto Mingi’s crotch without much care for his ability to spawn. Mingi makes an <i>oomph</i> sound when he does, hands jerking up to hold Hongjoong’s waist. </p><p>“Don’t,” Hongjoong tells him, and the hands withdraw immediately.</p><p>It’s only a ten minute ride to campus, Hongjoong tells himself, trying to ignore the warm body pressed along his back. He keeps trying to sit forward, lessening the contact between him and the dumb fuck behind him, but the road is bumpy and he keeps getting jostled back to Mingi, his ass sliding onto the huge package he unfortunately knows very well.</p><p>It’s not like Hongjoong hasn’t thought about his cock since they’d fucked. He’s thought about it a fair amount — clinically, describing it to his therapist. Not the whole story, obviously, but talking about the hookup like it was some random guy he’d picked up for a quick bang. </p><p>She’d been very excited that he was ready to explore meaningless sex again, after the horrors of his breakup. <i>Haha, yeah, totally,</i> Hongjoong had said. Smiling. </p><p>He's tried not to think about it a lot. Any of it. Not the beginning, not the middle, especially not the end, because — ugh. Just, no. </p><p>The problem is that finally fucking someone — someone other than his gross idiot of an ex — has made him, like, think about sex. A lot. More than every once in a while. </p><p>In the week since they had their little rendezvous, Hongjoong has found himself horny at strange times. Waking up with morning wood, hardening in the shower, jacking off almost every fucking night. And when he does beat off, he's way too conscious of how sensation concentrates sadly between his hand and his dick. Much different from how it feels to be touched all over, warmth spreading across his skin. A mouth on his cock instead of his short fingers. Filled up, clenching around something inside him.</p><p>Blurry imaginations, obviously. Nothing specific. No time to develop into sharp images with edges, because luckily Hongjoong doesn’t need much time or mental effort to get off. </p><p>“How many teams are at this thing?” Seonghwa asks, stopping a few feet in front of a stop sign. Hongjoong holds in a sigh of happiness — finally, a fucking distraction. </p><p>“Four, I think,” Wooyoung answers. “Five, including us.”</p><p>“What kind of dance is it?” Jongho asks. </p><p>“Hip hop, baby!” Wooyoung does a little shimmy with San on top of him. “It’s going to be great. Even if you don’t like watching dance, you’ll like this, I swear.”</p><p>“I like watching dance,” Jongho tells him. He says something else, too, but Hongjoong is suddenly distracted by the hard lump digging into his asscheeks. </p><p>Oh fucking — oh hell no. Absolutely fucking not. Mingi is not getting hard with Hongjoong sitting on his lap, like he's a stripper servicing some C-suite asshole at the club. </p><p>Hongjoong shifts angrily, aiming to convey how very displeased he is with the whole situation — but. Mingi makes a small noise, like a tiny cough, and Hongjoong wouldn’t have even noticed it sounded weird if he hadn’t been <i>sitting right on top of Mingi’s damn erection</i>.</p><p>He hates everything. The Lord, especially, for returning to Test him. How does Mingi manage to get hard this fast? Hongjoong could’ve sworn the asshat was soft just a second ago. </p><p>“Mingi, did Yunho say what order they’d be going on?” </p><p>Hongjoong feels a whoosh of hot exhaled air before Mingi answers. “Yeah, he, uh. He said he’d — they’d be second.”</p><p>“Oh, good. So even if we don’t get seats, at least we won’t miss him.” San sounds pleased as punch, and Hongjoong would be too, if he didn’t have Mingi blowing breaths on his neck, his legs trembling like Hongjoong weighs a gazillion pounds. </p><p><i>Oh, shove it,</i> he thinks spitefully. This fucking blows. He can feel, in HD, the thick line of Mingi's cock, nudged right against the crack of his ass. </p><p>He wonders if Jongho can hear how weirdly shaky Mingi’s breathing is. But no, Jongho’s just typing something on his phone, head bent down and focused. </p><p>They’re all so fucking oblivious. Which is probably a good thing, Hongjoong decides. Yes. Good. He can suffer, and they can all remain blissfully ignorant. </p><p>Then Seonghwa runs over a speed bump without slowing down. “Gah!” Hongjoong splutters, and he’s not the only one — they’ve all been bounced up and down by the impact, making various noises of shock and protest. Mingi’s hands clutch his waist again, another loud <i>oof</i> grunted onto Hongjoong’s neck. </p><p>At this rate, Mingi will be infertile when they finally get to the auditorium. </p><p>His dick stays just as erect for the remainder of the drive, pressing insistently onto Hongjoong’s poor ass. And Hongjoong’s feeling edgy, restless — he hasn’t actually come yet today, too stressed with imminent due dates to blast one out. That’s definitely the only reason he’s now feeling hot and shivery downstairs, despite the entire lack of sexual vibes on this family road trip. </p><p>It’s 7:28 when they pull up to the auditorium parking lot. Seonghwa makes a undeniably dangerous, careening right turn into the last free spot, which everyone collectively protests through loud shouting. </p><p>As soon as the car stops, Hongjoong throws the door open and jumps out into the cool air. Fuck, it had been sweaty in there. Luckily, his long hoodie covers his stupid half boner, and he pulls it down farther just to make sure.</p><p>It looks like Mingi isn’t as fortunate. He's holding his balled-up sweatshirt protectively over his crotch as he climbs out of the car, and his face is 1000% red and embarrassed, like a puppy who’s just eaten someone’s birthday cake. </p><p>Hongjoong, abruptly, is delighted. </p><p>Instead of screaming expletives, he laughs like a movie villain — maniacally, hitching giggles as he takes in Mingi’s uncomfortable expression. </p><p>“You good?” San asks quizzically, shaking his limbs out beside them. Still oblivious.</p><p>Hongjoong lets out one last hysterical giggle, then shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m good,” he says. </p><p>“Hurry the fuck up!” Seonghwa calls back to them. He and the rest of them are already close to the entrance. “We’re not saving you seats!”</p><p>“Oh, shit.” San takes off into a run, his lithe limbs moving like a coked up tiger as he sprints to catch up.</p><p>Once he's gone, Hongjoong turns and flicks an amused glance up and down Mingi’s body. Somehow, his mood has whiplashed from pure unadulterated rage to bubbly glee, just from seeing how awkward and self-conscious Mingi looks. Oh, the crumpled sweatshirt — it’s like poetry.</p><p>“Hongjoong, I’m sorry, I didn’t —”</p><p>Bleurgh. Hongjoong waves a hand. “Come on, boner boy,” he says, quite jovially, and starts walking toward the entrance to the auditorium. </p><p>Mingi doesn’t say anything as they walk, and Hongjoong is practically bouncing as they step inside, thoughts of his essay and other looming deadlines nearly forgotten. Miraculously, Seonghwa has found seats for all of them in a row to the back left — and it looks like he and Mingi are going to be sitting next to each other. </p><p>Whatever. As long as Mingi doesn’t mouth-breathe, it’ll be fine. </p><p>Hongjoong slides in next to San, and Mingi takes the aisle seat next to him. </p><p>The program has already started — there’s some old white dude giving a speech about ra-ra school pride and dance as an art, etc etc. Nothing Hongjoong doesn’t agree with, but he’s bored, and he thanks Jesus when the dude finishes and the first team comes onstage.</p><p>He’s been to a handful of these competition-y things in the past couple of years. Yunho was a stellar addition to Seonghwa’s house, even if he’d brought Mingi with him, and Seonghwa is always rallying the house + Hongjoong (and now Yeosang) to go to all of his shows. </p><p>Seonghwa does the same for Mingi’s games, too, even if Hongjoong manages to beg out of most of those. The one time he <i>had</i> gone to one of Mingi’s “games,” Mingi caught sight of him in the stands and dropped a basketball on his own foot. <i>Yes, I don’t want to be here either,</i> Hongjoong had thought-projected sourly. </p><p>The team that dances first isn’t bad, but they’re not as good as Yunho’s team. Good riddance, Hongjoong thinks, watching them walk off. And then their team walks onstage. Woot woot! Showtime. </p><p>Yunho and the other members are hyping up the crowd with waving hands, grinning out at the audience. Whistling encouragement, Hongjoong claps as hard as he can, even as he's drowned out by San and Wooyoung. They’re always the loudest bitches in the room, no matter how many people there are in the audience. </p><p>Yunho is one of three lead dancers, and he fucking — he kills it. They all do, dancing to some hip hop/rap song Hongjoong doesn’t know. It’s got a nasty beat, good fucking flow. Good choice. He makes a mental note to ask Yunho the name later, then focuses on watching the choreo closely, cheering every other second. </p><p>Hongjoong doesn’t have to fake his enthusiasm — he loves music, and he loves dance, the physical expression of one’s love for music. Damn, maybe he should put that into his essay.</p><p>The team finishes with Yunho doing a frankly incredible double flip, like a fucking gymnast, and then it’s over. </p><p>The crowd erupts into cheers and Hongjoong screams himself hoarse, which is pleasantly cathartic as well as supportive.</p><p>Yunho's team dances offstage, and then Hongjoong remembers they have to wait for the three remaining teams to perform. Grr. His least favorite part — acting as if he gives a rat’s ass who wins this competition. It’s all basically for show, anyway. The winning team probably gets to go to a bigger regional competition, but he knows Yunho doesn’t really care about medals or prizes, so it’s hard for him to care, too.</p><p>Partway through the second to last performance, Hongjoong sneaks a look at Mingi from the corner of his eye. Hm. He’s watching, that’s for sure — eyes fixed on the stage. Looking down, Hongjoong sees that his legs are wide open, of fucking course. He looks normal. Relaxed. </p><p>Hongjoong is <i>bored</i>. </p><p>Maybe that’s why he sneaks a hand over the armrest that divides their seats. Why he drags his fingertips over Mingi’s mid-thigh, stroking the soft fabric of his jeans.</p><p>Mingi starts at the touch, lurching forward, and Hongjoong grins like the devil. </p><p>He feels Mingi turn his head to look at him. Hongjoong meets his gaze for the briefest of moments, as if to say, <i>what of it?</i> Daring Mingi to push his hand away. <i>It’s karma, bitch,</i> Hongjoong thinks, smiling at him. This is perfect payback for Mingi’s whole dick rubbing tomfoolery in the car. </p><p>And Hongjoong is really fucking bored. </p><p>He’s mostly expecting Mingi to push his hand away with a huff, so he’s surprised when Mingi just swallows, staring at him. He holds Hongjoong's gaze for a second longer before he turns his head back to the stage. Body language that Hongjoong interprets as, <i>do your worst</i>. Even if Mingi's body is now all tensed up, his neck rigid. </p><p>Hongjoong pretends to watch the performers, too. But inside he’s crowing with satisfaction as he dances his fingers over Mingi’s left thigh, a mix of light and hard touches. Mingi’s thighs are longer than his own, and thick with muscle. Hongjoong is operating more out of curiosity than sadism as he gropes and prods at the curves of skin he finds, mapping out the shape of Mingi’s legs in his mind as he presses over the skin. </p><p>The fourth team finishes, and Hongjoong ceases the touching to clap politely. He checks to his left but San hasn't noticed what he’s been doing to Mingi’s poor thigh, just clapping and whispering something into Wooyoung’s ear next to him. </p><p>The fifth team's choreo is so fucking boring. Hongjoong huffs and drifts his hand towards Mingi’s lap again, wanting to make him twitch. </p><p>He gets a full body shudder when he traces his fingers over Mingi’s inseam. Perfect. Biting his lip, Hongjoong spider-walks his fingers dangerously close to where Mingi's thigh becomes groin. Near his big dumb cock.</p><p>Hongjoong wonders if he’s hard, but it’s too dark to see in the dimly lit room. He thinks Mingi is hard, the way he’s trembling under Hongjoong’s fingers — and yet he still won’t shove Hongjoong’s hand away. </p><p>Honestly, Hongjoong kind of admires his dedication. </p><p>And then the final performance is over. In the second of silence after the song ends, Hongjoong hears a shallow, shaky exhale next to him.</p><p>Mm. So he is affected, after all, Hongjoong thinks, before he starts to applaud.</p><p>Once they announce Yunho’s team as the winner, he’s too preoccupied with cheering and stomping and screaming to pay any more attention. Yunho says a few words; his co-captain Hwanwoong says a few more, and then the whole thing is over. Finally. </p><p>Hongjoong blinks against the sudden blare of the auditorium lights. He checks his phone, and yeah, it’s been a hot fucking two hours. Damn. He’s going to have to pull another all-nighter, he thinks, sagging into his seat. </p><p>And then he glances over and sees Mingi has his sweatshirt balled in his lap again, blushing pink as he stares at the floor. </p><p>Oh, so fucking beautiful. “You alright there?” Hongjoong asks, all sugar sweet. “You look a little sick, Mingi.”</p><p>On his other side, San looks over at them, stretching. “Yeah, why’re you so red? Are you feeling okay, dude?”</p><p>“I’m fine.” Mingi throws them a smile that’s so clearly forced that Hongjoong wants to laugh and cry. “Uh, yeah, just happy they won.”</p><p>“It’s incredible,” San says, always fucking oblivious. “They’ve never gone to regionals before! Yunho’s gonna be thrilled.” </p><p>“Guys, we’re gonna wait for Yunho by the backstage door,” Wooyoung calls over to them. “Let’s go!”</p><p>They follow Seonghwa out of the aisle, weaving through the departing crowd to reach the exit. Hongjoong checks his email and texts and apps while they wait, ignoring the bustle around them. Ugh, he has so much to fucking do — sleep is going to have to be postponed until Friday. Great. Splendid. </p><p>When Yunho comes out they surround him in a big hug, swarming his long body and almost knocking him over. It’s very wholesome, and Hongjoong forgets his own impending doom long enough to feel happy, wrapped up with all of them, seeing Yunho’s grinning puppy face. All of them, happy and content and together, at least for this singular moment. </p><p>He makes eye contact with Mingi when they pull apart. Accidentally. But as soon as their eyes meet, Hongjoong blanks out, weak from the affection from the hug. His mind flashes the memory of Mingi standing in his doorway, looking at him so strange and tense. Flashes the image of Mingi with come on his face —</p><p>No!<i> Fucking no,</i> Hongjoong tells himself firmly, breaking his gaze away to stare at the floor.</p><p>He heads to the library afterward, instead of riding back with the house. Which is good, because Yunho can sit on Mingi’s lap instead. Taking Hongjoong’s place. Feeling that dumb monster dick all over his skinny ass, instead of Hongjoong. </p><p>If Mingi did get an erection, Hongjoong bets Yunho wouldn’t have the guts to say anything about it. Or if he did, Yunho would probably smile nicely and say something like, <i>happens to everyone!</i> And they’d laugh about it and do gross things like fist bump and half hug. </p><p>Anyway, he knows Yunho must have the patience of a saint to be best friends with Mingi. </p><p>It’s good. It’s all fine, Hongjoong thinks, settling into his favorite quiet study cubicle in the basement. It’s all great and fine. </p><p>He definitely does not think of <i>Mingi nervous doorstep</i>, or <i>Mingi face sperm.<i> Instead, he thinks of Mingi’s flushed face and jerky legs, and he smiles widely before opening up his backpack.</i></i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Fuck,” he says to the empty room, blowing out a frustrated breath. This sucks balls.</p><p>The twink getting railed on his laptop lets out a breathy shriek. Fuck you too! Hongjoong thinks, watching him bounce half-heartedly on the dick in his ass. Looking like a two-dollar whore in a PornHub banner ad — <i>You Won’t Last Four Minutes Watching This!</i></p><p>But Hongjoong has, in fact, lasted four minutes. He’s lasted twenty minutes at this point, squeezing pathetically around the dildo he’s stuck up his ass, his slick hand wrapped around his flagging erection.</p><p>“Yes, Daddy, fuck me, mm —”</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ shut up,” Hongjoong growls, spiritlessly.</p><p>It’s annoying as all hell. He’s been close at least three times so far, and each time he’s had to take his hand off his dick and hump the air, groaning in frustration — because he keeps fucking <i>thinking about it</i>.</p><p>Various its. Multiple. Each one more inexcusable, gross, and plain goddamn stupid than the last, because each one of them involves Song fucking Mingi. </p><p>On his dusty screen, the bottom’s now getting fucked missionary-style, legs bent back by his head. And the position has changed, but the soundtrack is just as incredibly mind-numbing. <i>Uhn uhn uhn, yeah, please — </i> </p><p>No fucking grammys for him. Hongjoong shuts the laptop, grunting in utter vexation. </p><p>Then he takes his hand off his raw, overused dick, because it’s time to recognize — unfortunate as it may be — that this is truly getting out of hand.</p><p>So. Okay. Hongjoong x Hongjoong Truth and Reconciliation Time. Let’s fucking go. </p><p>…okay.</p><p>He likes making him squirm. That’s what it is. </p><p>He likes making Mingi squirm! He can admit that easily, because that’s always been true. If he had a Mingi-related fetish, it would be turning Mingi’s face pink like a schoolgirl, watching him get all embarrassed and awkward and off-balance. <i>That</i> version of Mingi much better than when he’s all holier-than-thou, with that fucking attitude — <i>you puked into a toilet; I can throw a ball into a tiny hoop from far away; worship me ground-dweller</i>. </p><p>Yeah, he’s much less fucking annoying when he’s blushing and speechless. And Hongjoong loves when he’s less fucking annoying, because then Hongjoong is less fucking <i>crazy</i>, and everyone and their mother — especially his own mother — prefers it that way.</p><p>However. The problem is.</p><p>Currently, thinking about Mingi squirm makes his dick hard, which is nasty and perverted and unnatural. And trying not to think about Mingi squirm, as he’s been learning for the past few days, makes his dick as limp as raw fish.</p><p>The whole thing is sheer fucking ridiculousness.</p><p>It had made him chuckle to think about, at first. Mingi, straight as of two weeks ago, tall and relatively sculpted and horse-dicked and having all the other attributes of traditional masculinity — got hard with Hongjoong pinching his thighs in public. Jerking under his fingers like a malfunctioning puppet. </p><p>Red like a tomato, not just then, but after the car ride. And with his mouth stuffed with cock, sucking Hongjoong’s dick like he wanted Hongjoong to call him the best boy in the fucking world.</p><p>Hongjoong’s had a lot of time to fail miserably at not thinking about it.</p><p>He shivers. His dick twitches in sync, trying valiantly to harden again. <i>Fuck you,</i> he tells it, letting his head flop back against the pillows. He refuses to touch himself to the picture of Mingi’s jittery thighs; imagining the erection bulging against his jeans, hidden by his dumb fucking sweatshirt. </p><p>Nuh-uh. Not that, or the way he’d sounded when he’d been inside Hongjoong, fingers scrabbling at his sides, unable to control himself enough not to come. It’d made Hongjoong mad enough to spit then, but now it’s just — he’s.</p><p>Grr fucking grr. </p><p>Face pinched, he reaches down and draws the dildo out of his asshole, wincing at the chafe of the silicone. His prostate twinges in protest at another involuntary edging session, pathetically sensitive. Mother of God, Hongjoong wishes he could just fucking come. He’s pretty sure all of his problems would be solved with a good, solid, mediocre nut.</p><p>But he’s gotta admit defeat when he sees it. So he sighs, and flops over to pick up his phone from the night table. Swipes all of his stupid notifications away, <i>don’t care don’t care don’t care</i>, and oh. Text notification from 💩.</p><p>Pile of shit, pile of shit. Who the fuck — oh, wait. Oh.</p><p><i>What the fuck does he want?</i> Hongjoong thinks angrily. He opens the notification, his fingers still sticky with lube. What the fuck, is he fucking clairvoyant or something? </p><p>From 💩: <i>hey, how are you?</i></p><p>DELETE IT. DELETE. BLOCK. He should just — what the fuck is that supposed to mean. The fuck? DELETE — </p><p>To 💩: fucking splendid. why are you talking to me.</p><p>From 💩: <i>lmao hongjoong</i> </p><p>That’s not a fucking answer! He’s about to type a series of very pointed, precise, and not anatomically possible things, but then Mingi texts again. </p><p>From 💩: <i>i wrote my verses for the song, if you want to read them?</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>i know you said you hadn’t composed it yet, but i kind of went off the theme you talked about, like questioning and having a mentor and stuff</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>i can change it tho haha</i></p><p>Hongjoong hates him. He’s lying in bed with dried lube and precome on his fingers, dick sad and flaccid and floppy against his thigh, and Mingi is texting him about rap. It’s fucking — it’s unacceptable. </p><p>To 💩: why should i read them if youre gonna change them</p><p>From 💩: <i>ah yeah that’s true</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>i guess im worried itll be crap when you do hear it hahaha</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>so i just thought i’d see</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>but no worries i know youre busy</i></p><p>Damn fucking right he’s busy. Busy with a passionate attempt at telepathic castration. Hongjoong sighs aggressively, miffed beyond compare. If he says no, though, Mingi might suggest they actually — meet up, to workshop his draft. Eugh. No can fucking do.</p><p>To 💩: fine.<br/>
To 💩: i am busy though, so dont expect feedback anytime soon</p><p>From 💩: <i>thanks, no rush! ok one sec</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>Image attachment</i></p><p>Hongjoong opens the picture, which is a screenshot of Mingi’s notes app. Very fucking professional, he thinks, rolling his eyes. </p><p>It’s hard to get the feel of a verse without hearing the flow, but his expectations are low to begin with. It’s probably going to be a series of weird Rupi Kaur poems about brojobs and Ellen DeGeneres — but he did tell the dumbshit he could feature, so Hongjoong’s really dug his own grave here. </p><p>Anyway — he reads.  </p><p> </p><p>11.29<br/>
I always wanted you<br/>
To take care of me<br/>
The moment I'm alone, well<br/>
That’s when it’s hard for me</p><p>When the memories that made up my side of me<br/>
Fell down like dominoes, now who is me?<br/>
I said what I said,<br/>
I thought in my head<br/>
It would all disappear, so magically</p><p>But I don't look back, that’s a guilt trap<br/>
I know life's endless — forward, not back<br/>
I've been shaken up, thoughtless<br/>
Now I’m back and I’m dauntless</p><p>And I know it's a change<br/>
Nickel and dimes, I’m strange<br/>
They’ll look at me like I’m different<br/>
Irregular, I’ll never forget it</p><p>But I’m young and I like it<br/>
I say the word youth, that’s my shit<br/>
I say the word you, I’m in love with it<br/>
The pain is gone, the colors are lit<br/>
If you let me I’ll learn from you,<br/>
That’s what I think.</p><p> </p><p>And...over. </p><p> </p><p>Huh.</p><p>Hongjoong stares, the screen blurred by the force of his eyes. It’s not — that’s. Not Mingi. That just — it feels.</p><p>He reads it again. </p><p>It’s not fucking — it’s good, okay? It’s good. It’ll go perfect in the song. It’s vaguely poetic and it’s sad and it’s hopeful and it just.</p><p><i>I always wanted you to take care of me.</i> His mom, maybe? Seonghwa, San? </p><p>Someone he reached out to, maybe, to talk about his burgeoning gay feelings. It could be anyone. Hongjoong barely knows Mingi; he doesn’t have a fucking clue who he’d look to as a mentor for this kind of stuff. </p><p><i>I say the word you, I’m in love with it.</i> A crush from high school? A crush he’s got now, who’s made him leap — partially — out of the closet he’s been in, seemingly quite happily, for twenty years? </p><p>Again, it could be anyone. He and Mingi are basically strangers. </p><p>Hongjoong slaps his cheek with the hand not holding the phone. </p><p>He can’t imagine Mingi saying it at all. Rapping it. Thinking it. Long thoughts, shower thoughts, car thoughts, probably on those huge, money-sucking buses that the “athletes” ride to their away games, staring out the window, just — thinking. </p><p>Blinking hard, Hongjoong opens his phone. He’s going to respond, even though he said he was fucking busy. He could wait, but he just — needs to say something. Itches to say something, feeling jumpy. </p><p>To 💩: ok. it’s fine</p><p>The reply comes within seconds. </p><p>From 💩: <i>oh really? cool, thanks for reading it</i></p><p><i>I hate you,</i> Hongjoong thinks desperately. Looking at the message. Feeling the rabbit thumping of his heart, like footsteps running on pavement. </p><p>He puts the phone to the side and breathes deeply, trying to calm himself the fuck down. Slowing the footsteps from a sprint to a jog. And then — after what must be minutes of lying back, eyes closed and breathing, just breathing — his heart rate returns to normal. </p><p>When he gathers enough strength to pick his phone back up, he sees a couple new messages.</p><p>From 💩: <i>i really thought it was too emo lol</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>i guess i tried to fit in with the title you mentioned, like “my way” but more nostalgic than angry fuck you? kinda lol</i></p><p>Uh huh. Does he always sound like such a needy preteen? Hongjoong scrolls up in the text thread. Mingi’s only texted him a few times before this, variations of <i>I’m here, we’ll be there in five, Seonghwa says to get two fries</i>. Okay...</p><p>To 💩: it’s not what i was expecting but it’s fine</p><p>From 💩: <i>oh, what were you expecting? lmao</i></p><p>To 💩: stop the lols and lmaos or ill remove your vocal cords. have fun trying to laugh then.<br/>
To 💩: more like<br/>
To 💩: “Every time you kiss her, homie, think about my asshole”</p><p>From 💩: <i>hahahahahahahhaah i love that song</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>that wouldnt really fit with what you told me tho</i></p><p>To 💩: when have you ever done what I tell you to?</p><p>And then silence, in which Hongjoong wishes, fervently, that he could kick himself in the nutsack. He hadn’t even meant it that way, but it sounds — he hadn’t meant it that way. Fuck. </p><p>Mingi must be confused too, because he doesn’t message back for another two minutes. During which Hongjoong waits, typing and deleting at least five times, wondering if it’s acceptable or not to be left on read. </p><p>Then, finally:</p><p>From 💩: <i>haha</i><br/>
From 💩: <i>so you coming to wooyoungs birthday thing tmrw?</i></p><p>Wooyoung’s birthday? Oh, it <i>is</i> the end of November. Time is real. Hongjoong frowns, thumbs paused over his keyboard. </p><p>To 💩: idk im pretty busy<br/>
To 💩: how many people are coming</p><p>From 💩: <i>uhhh 64 said they were going on the fb event</i></p><p>Hongjoong waits a few minutes to answer, just for appearances’ sake. He’s supposed to be busy, after all. But Mingi should know that of course he’s fucking going to the party/gathering/hangout — Seonghwa would kill him if he dared to miss a birthday anything. Not to mention how fucking annoying Wooyoung would be about it, all whiny and grouchy. </p><p>To 💩: yea i guess ill come if i have time</p><p>From 💩: <i>cool! see you there then, if you do 😊</i></p><p>Big gay sewer rat. Hongjoong doesn’t bother to respond, because fuck no. Still itchy, he throws the phone on the bed, and sucks in a few deep, measured breaths. He’s itchy and still weirdly off, probably from the blue balls he’s been sporting since that dumb performance. </p><p>Hey, that’s cool. He can spend time with Mingi, just chilling. They probably won’t even speak to each other much; they never really do at these types of things. And there’s almost a zero percent chance he’ll be forced to sit on Mingi’s lap, so that’s ideal. </p><p>Party time!</p><p>He should probably get Wooyoung a present. Flavored lube, maybe? Cucumber flavored, if the adult store downtown sells that. Wooyoung would absolutely fucking hate it.</p><p>Anyway, take 5,000! Hongjoong has work to do. He can worry about Wooyoung’s lube later. </p><p>And his fucking blue balls, too. Goddamn.</p><p>__________________</p><p> </p><p>Tomorrow dawns at its expected time, and Hongjoong wants to look hot for Wooyoung’s birthday. </p><p>For no particular reason, other than that he’s been feeling like a plague victim for a good week, and he wants to be ~reborn~.</p><p><i>what should i wear, these or black jeans and more colors</i>, he texts Seonghwa, attaching a mirror selfie of him in loose e-boy pants, cut off at the hem to show his black Docs. Mm, fashion. A sweatshirt he tie-dyed — blue and gray cloudy swirls — and a black knit beanie covering his dark root hairs. It’s kind of a badass look, but he’s worried it’s too streetwear. <i>seonghwaaaa…</i></p><p>The reply comes a few minutes later. <i>I think that’s fine. Yeosang likes the hat.</i></p><p>
  <i>ok thanks tell yeosang i love him</i>
</p><p><i>No problem. I won’t.</i> He’s always playing hard to get, Hongjoong thinks, grinning at his phone. Their throuple is destiny; Seonghwa is just in denial. <i>See you later,</i> Seonghwa adds, probably assuming Hongjoong will flake.</p><p>Spoiler Alert: he doesn’t flake! Fuck you, Park Seonghwa. </p><p>Hongjoong arrives around 9:30, a very chic and a la mode time. The door’s wide open — fucking idiots — and he nods in approval when he hears Sia on the speakers. Nice family friendly tunes. It’s pretty packed when he walks inside, people all over the living and kitchen area. Scattered along the walls, perched on the sofa, and gathered around the game of beer pong that’s arranged on the kitchen table.</p><p>Speaking of beer pong: Mingi’s playing against some girl Hongjoong doesn’t know. </p><p>He looks fine, Hongjoong thinks, looking at him for as long as his eyes will allow before starting to smoke. Mingi’s wearing ripped black jeans and a black and green plaid button up, unbuttoned to show a black shirt underneath. He looks like a lesbian. God, how did Hongjoong not know he was partially homosexual? It’s so fucking obvious, it hurts.</p><p>Luckily, Mingi’s too focused on the game to notice Hongjoong’s arrival. </p><p>“Love the hat, very winter chic,” San says, when Hongjoong joins him and Yunho by the fridge.</p><p>He isn’t sure if San’s being sarcastic, but it is winter-ish, so he just nods. “Thanks, sorry I’m late. Where’s the liquor?”</p><p>“What about, where’s the birthday boy?” Wooyoung appears beside him, handing him a beer and grinning toothily. “I’m 20, baby! One year closer to freedom.”</p><p>“Happy birthday, dumbass,” Hongjoong says, demeaning himself enough to give Wooyoung a hug. He smells like candles and weed, and also lavender essential oil. “Here’s your present,” he adds, handing Wooyoung the small box he’d brought. It’s not cucumber lube, but it is a mug with a feral possum that says “EAT TRASH HAIL SATAN.”</p><p>Very on brand. No one could doubt Hongjoong’s well wishes.</p><p>“Thank you, my darling, but you’re my present.” Wooyoung takes the box and ruffles his hair, ignoring Hongjoong’s own feral possum impression. “Now, let’s get this party started.”</p><p>The party gets started. </p><p>Well, it gets continued: Hongjoong is pulled into a larger circle of people, 60% of whom he knows from classes or clubs or seeing them with Wooyoung and the others. He chats, and he listens, and Wooyoung preens like a happy cat under the all attention heaped on him. <i>Giggly little attention whore,</i> Hongjoong thinks, watching him indulgently. </p><p>“You wanna dance?” San asks after a while, nudging his side. </p><p>“Yes fucking please.” Hongjoong places his empty beer on the floor near the wall, where hopefully no one will smash it over. “Hey, Jongho, you want to dance with us?” he asks the kid, who’s been clutching his Heineken in hand the whole evening. </p><p>Jongho does. He lets them push him over to the informal dance floor, and he even laughs gummily when Hongjoong grinds back into San’s crotch. He keeps laughing, beer in hand, as San whoops with his hands in the air, hyping Hongjoong up with each exaggeratedly slutty push of his ass. Friendship — there’s nothing more symbolic of affection than two gays fake-grinding on each other. </p><p>“Hey, why was I not invited?” Wooyoung demands, breaking in beside San along with a couple of girls Hongjoong doesn’t know.</p><p>Yunho and Mingi aren’t around, he notices. They’ve probably gone out for a supply run, since it’s getting late, and everyone, including Hongjoong, is starving and close to sober. He also notices that Seonghwa is making out with Yeosang in the corner. Ew, but also yay. </p><p>The party winds down as all parties do — slowly, with Wooyoung getting more and more cheeky and tipsy as the night turns to early morning. By 2:30am they’re down to Yeosang and the house, not including Mingi and Yunho, who are apparently held up waiting for pizza, and Jongho, who’s begged off to sleep. </p><p>“Ah, fuck, I’m druuuuunk.” Wooyoung giggles cheerily where he’s slumped onto the sofa, partially on top of San. </p><p>The rest of them have collapsed around him — sofa, armchair, floor. Looking like a gaggle of overworked, barely non-teenagers who get snorty after one measly sip of their mom’s wine. Happy. Sleepy. </p><p>Hongjoong has managed to snag the arm of the couch, but he gets up, cracking his back and feeling his age. “Going to piss,” he announces, no one in particular.</p><p>When he returns there’s a pile of pizza boxes on the floor. And there’s Yunho, and — Mingi, their asses slapped down on the couch, squishing Seonghwa and Yeosang into the corner. Somehow, San and Wooyoung are both upright, standing in front of the pizza boxes, and Wooyoung’s giggling with his forehead pressed into San’s shoulder. </p><p>“What the fuck is going on?” Hongjoong asks, perching on the armchair next to Seonghwa. </p><p>He doesn’t look at Mingi at all. He’d been right before — they’ve managed not to speak to each other the whole night! It’s fine and spectacular, even though he feels Mingi’s eyes linger on him after he speaks.</p><p>Hongjoong pretends not to notice. </p><p>“San lost gay chicken,” Yunho explains, as if the words are clarifying and not horrifying. He grins, pink-cheeked and relaxed. “Have some pizza!”</p><p>“Gay chicken?” Hongjoong ignores the pizza. His stomach doesn’t handle lactose and beer together very well, which means it doesn’t at all. </p><p>“You know what gay chicken is,” Seonghwa scolds him. “And Wooyoung just won, so he’s picking the next two.”</p><p>“Excuse me, I do not fucking know what —”</p><p>“Mingi and Hongjoong!” Wooyoung shouts, interrupting him. </p><p>Hongjoong’s expression is one of slack-jawed, dull horror. He glances over and sees that Mingi looks — he looks just as fucked up as Hongjoong, eyes wide with disbelief. </p><p>“Oh, shit,” Yunho giggles. He elbows Mingi sharply. “Your time to shine, dude, let’s go.”</p><p>San is laughing too, like the whole thing is as funny as hell. “Rooting for you, Hongjoong,” he cheers, like Hongjoong’s whole night hasn’t been ruined with three short words. </p><p>Everyone’s oblivious except Seonghwa.</p><p>“You don’t have to, you know,” Seonghwa says quietly, drawing his attention. Hongjoong looks at him, still freaking out, and Seonghwa — he looks back, and he looks like he knows too much. Understanding. “I’ll fuck them up if they push you. Seriously.” </p><p>“Come on, ‘s my birthday, guys,” Wooyoung whines. He makes grabby hands at Hongjoong impatiently, lying limp at the foot of the sofa. “Please. It’ll be so so so funny.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Hongjoong says, both to Seonghwa and to everyone else. He rises off the armchair, squaring his shoulders like he’s preparing for battle, and then cocks an eyebrow at Mingi. “Well?” </p><p>He’s going to treat it like a challenge, because that’s what it is — a dumb game. Something to win. </p><p>With another cheerful shove from Yunho, Mingi trips off the couch into a standing position. His gangly limbs move to stand opposite Hongjoong, face to face, front to front. Mingi looks about as nervous as Hongjoong’s ever seen him, standing there. The height difference, and general size difference, sends Hongjoong into a simmering rage. As usual. </p><p>Everything else is not as fucking usual. Because they’ve <i>fucked</i>. </p><p>“You do know how to play, right?” Yunho asks. “Otherwise Mingi’s gonna get punched in the face.”</p><p>“I know how to play.” Hongjoong physically forces himself to unclench his jaw. </p><p>The game is basically that two people — two straight guys, according to the original envisioning — move closer and closer, faces zooming toward a collision, as if they’re going to kiss. And the person who turns away first, loses — the eponymous gay chicken. </p><p>For Hongjoong’s friends, it usually ends up being who stops the kiss first, because almost none of them have qualms about platonic kissing. Jongho would be problematic, actually, but he’s asleep. </p><p>And Hongjoong has to admit, it’s a lot better than Spin the fucking Bottle or Never Have I Ever. At least this is just kissing — or not kissing. Even if it’s literally the most homophobic and wack-ass game Hongjoong’s ever witnessed.</p><p>“Okey dokey,” Wooyoung says loudly. “Ready, set, go!”</p><p>Hongjoong steps closer to Mingi, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.</p><p>Mingi steps forward, a tinier step. His mouth, like usual, is open. Eyes wide and fluttery. </p><p>Hongjoong steps forward, a big step. Saving them time. It takes his feet right up to Mingi’s feet, and now they’re chest to chest — or as near to it as they can be, with how freakishly tall Mingi is. </p><p>He can <i>hear</i> Mingi breathing. </p><p>“Oh my fucking God,” someone whispers. </p><p>Hongjoong isn’t listening. Instead he’s focusing his roaring brain enough to reach up and fist his hands into Mingi’s shirt, getting a good grip before he yanks Mingi’s face down to his level. Centimeters between their mouths. </p><p>“Your move,” he says, hoping his breath doesn’t smell like beer. </p><p>Mingi’s breath, surprisingly, does not. Hongjoong wonders if he’s had anything to drink at all. </p><p>They’re so close he’s going cross-eyed with the effort of looking into Mingi’s eyes, which are dark and intense at this distance, and more sharply focused than Hongjoong had expected. He wonders — </p><p>Mingi leans down, erasing the scant distance between them, and brushes his mouth against Hongjoong’s mouth. Just the lightest touch, feather-soft. </p><p>It still makes Hongjoong jolt in shock, creating space between them as he stumbles out of reach. </p><p>“Mingi won!” Yunho crows from the side, and Hongjoong refocuses enough to feel anger licking at his bones. <i>Oh no he fucking did not.</i></p><p>With a growl of frustration, he tugs Mingi back by his shirt and smashes their mouths together. Mingi’s mouth parts to let him in, surprisingly, and then their tongues are slipping against each other, wet and warm. </p><p>Fuck, it’s been a while since he’s made out with anyone. He’s forgotten how fucking nice it feels to be orally connected with someone, even with all their friends watching, little oohs and ahs from the peanut gallery. It feels good. Even if it’s stupid fucking Mingi, sagging into Hongjoong’s body like he can’t support his own weight, letting Hongjoong tongue-fuck his mouth into oblivion. </p><p>“Fuck yeah, get that bread, Joong!” Wooyoung calls out, and Hongjoong doesn’t even mind. </p><p>He’s kind of enjoying the attention, actually. Withdrawing his tongue, he bites Mingi’s lower lip into his teeth, and oh, the fucking <i>sound</i> Mingi makes when he presses his teeth in, incredible. Hongjoong releases his shirt to grip both side of his jaw, holding him there and teething at his lip like a chew toy — </p><p>And then Mingi pushes himself away, stumbling back out of Hongjoong’s hands. </p><p>“Mm, okay, o-okay,” he pants, standing a good few feet away. Like he wants a safe distance between them. “You win, I — you win.”</p><p>He drops back onto the couch, staring intently at the floor. </p><p>Hongjoong must be <i>malfunctioning</i> or something, because it takes him a few seconds to realize what’s going on. That they’re playing a fucking game. He shakes himself, blinking rapidly. His brain is mushy. His face is tingling, mouth especially.</p><p>The rest of them have to have noticed something’s up, Hongjoong thinks. Even they aren’t so fucking — </p><p>“You won!” Wooyoung says, jumping up to wrap an arm around him. “So you get to choose who goes next? <i>Please</i> choose me and Seonghwa. I’m begging you.”</p><p>— ignorant. “Yeah, sure,” Hongjoong says distantly. His ears are ringing, too. “That’s. Sure.”</p><p>He sits in the armchair and watches Seonghwa and Wooyoung as if from far away, like he’s a fly on the wall instead of right there in front of them. </p><p>And he’s a huge fucking coward, because he doesn’t have the courage to look at Mingi at all. </p><p>Seonghwa runs around the room to evade Wooyoung’s kiss. He succeeds for a while, but eventually Yeosang holds him captive, kept still for Wooyoung to smack his lips onto Seonghwa’s scrunched up mouth. It actually looks really bad, consent wise — the whole fucking game does — but it’s all fun and games. None of them would ever do anything to make anyone uncomfortable. </p><p>Except.</p><p>“Let’s watch a movie,” Wooyoung says, once he’s happily kissed every single one of them on the mouth or cheek. “Rom-com!”</p><p>“It’s three in the goddamn morning,” Seonghwa groans, dropping his head onto Yeosang’s shoulder. </p><p>“It’s my birthday, Seonghwa.”</p><p>“I’m down,” Yunho chimes in. San nods, too, and Hongjoong just shrugs. He’ll be sleeping here tonight, and he can’t use the couch as his bed until they’re all gone. </p><p>“I’m in, but gotta hit the head first,” Mingi tells them. </p><p>When Hongjoong looks at him for the first time since — since they kissed, he’s. He looks fine. His mouth’s a little red, yeah, and his hair’s messed up, and he looks slightly overstrung, moving like a skittish racehorse as he walks off in the direction of the bathroom. </p><p>Huh.</p><p>They’re almost a quarter of the way through To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before — for the eightieth time — when he realizes Mingi still hasn’t come back from the bathroom. </p><p>Huh x 2. No one else seems to have noticed. They’re all watching the screen dumbly, close to sleep. San is fully asleep, drooling onto Yunho’s shoulder. </p><p>“Going to piss,” Hongjoong whispers, and gets a few half-nods and groggy sounds. Fucking oblivious, he thinks, also for the eightieth time that night.</p><p>The bathroom is empty. Okay. Hongjoong pisses and washes his hands quickly. Then he spends a minute groaning at the state of his face in the harsh light, noticing where he’d rubbed off his foundation, smudges of eyeliner under his eyes. Grr. Giving up on his face, he takes his hat off and tries to mold his hair into something less gross. Feels nice, running his hands through his freed scalp.</p><p>He can’t help but notice Mingi’s light is on when he steps out. </p><p>So he’s not asleep, Hongjoong thinks. And then — without really thinking it over — he strides the few steps over to his door and knocks once, twice. Firmly. </p><p>“Come in,” Mingi calls.</p><p>He jerks up, legs and arms flailing, when he sees Hongjoong. “Oh, fuck. Hi, uh. Hello?”</p><p>Hongjoong takes in the laptop on his bed and the way Mingi’s somehow in fucking pajamas — loose pants and an oversized T-shirt. He frowns, trying to recover his sense of control. “Why aren’t you watching the movie? They asked where you were,” he says, lying through his teeth. </p><p>“Oh, I’m just, you know.” Mingi tugs at his hair, annoyingly self-conscious. “Watching some stuff.”</p><p>Oh Good Lord. “Did you get hard because I kissed you, or something?” Hongjoong demands, placing his hands onto his hips.</p><p>“I —”</p><p>“Did you come in here to jerk off?” He stares at Mingi. “Huh? Is that what happened?”</p><p>The last time Hongjoong had been inside this room, he’d had Mingi’s cock up his ass. He’d told Mingi to sit and be good, and he’d come right on his — </p><p>Fuck. Hongjoong would really like that sense of control, like, ASAP. </p><p>Mingi stares back at him, pink. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Hongjoong,” he says finally. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed —”</p><p>“You should be sorry. You’re a fucking bad kisser.” Hongjoong watches him flinch at the lie, and something inside him flinches too, as if in response. “But I can teach you how to kiss, if you want,” he adds quickly. </p><p>Uh. What?</p><p><i>Shut up,</i> Hongjoong tells himself. </p><p>It’s just kissing. He’s bored; Mingi’s clearly bored. And attracted to him, or just attracted to anything that moves, despite how weird the whole concept is. </p><p>“You want to make out?” Mingi says it tentatively, like he’s not sure if Hongjoong’s going to rip his teeth out for saying so. “Like — now?”</p><p>Hongjoong shrugs. Casually. “Yeah, won’t be able to sleep until they get off the fucking couch. So.” </p><p>“I mean — sure. Where do you want to…?”</p><p>“Bed,” Hongjoong says, strangely relieved. </p><p>Mingi nods in acknowledgement, moving his laptop to the night table as Hongjoong crawls onto the bed. He’s never been in a bed with Mingi before. It’s strange, but it’s a lot better than standing up and making out, at nearly four in the goddamn morning. </p><p>Quite the athlete himself, he swings a leg over Mingi’s middle and settles there, fitted over Mingi’s stomach. Ass over abdomen. Mingi’s hands are limp at his sides, like he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to put them.</p><p>He’s just <i>gazing</i> up at Hongjoong, disbelieving. Like he isn’t quite sure if Hongjoong’s a ghost. If he’s real. </p><p><i>You’d know I was real if you touched me,</i> Hongjoong thinks, annoyed. Ah, that’s better — irritation, coating his wrinkled brain, filling in the gaps. </p><p>He leans down and slots their mouths together impatiently, pushing with his tongue for Mingi to let him in. And Mingi opens so good underneath him, big mouth parting to take Hongjoong’s tongue inside, letting Hongjoong pretty much fucking do whatever he wants with him. Grip his hair, suck on his tongue, wet and filthy — swapping so much spit Hongjoong forgets what his own mouth tastes like. </p><p>Hongjoong really fucking loves kissing, okay? </p><p>Specifically, he loves having a warm body under him, and a mouth to press his lips onto, and hands cupping his face. He’s not always emo and horny — well, that’s not true. But he can be soft, too.</p><p>He nips into the puffiness of Mingi’s lower lip, right where he’d bit him before. Fuck yeah, Hongjoong thinks, smiling at the squeaky sound Mingi makes when he bites down. Fucking pain slut — or maybe he just likes marks? </p><p>Aiming to find out, he tucks his head into Mingi’s neck. Once again, Mingi smells like that fucking dog cologne, sharp and earthy. Hongjoong latches his teeth into a strip of neck and sucks a hickey into the skin, incandescently pleased by how Mingi writhes beneath him, panting. </p><p>He’s not at all surprised when he sits back and feels a hard dick against his ass. </p><p>“You’re hard just from my tongue in your mouth?” Hongjoong asks, hoping Mingi can’t hear how breathless he sounds. “How the fuck did you not know you were gay before? You go off like a fountain from just a fucking kiss, Mingi.” He grinds back, circling his ass into Mingi’s crotch for emphasis. </p><p>“Oh Jesus,” Mingi breathes, looking up at him. </p><p>Then, confusingly, Mingi chuckles — self-deprecating, small, even as he’s rock hard under Hongjoong’s ass. “It’s not like that,” he says. Then he sighs, one hand coming up to wipe over his eyes, which is even more confusing. “It’s just you, Joong. Just — I swear I don’t even think about guys, except you. <i>You</i> drive me fucking crazy.”</p><p>What? </p><p>“I bet you say that to all the guys,” Hongjoong says, to cover his confusion. <i>Just him</i> — uh, what?</p><p>“No, seriously.” <i>Why does he sound so earnest?</i> Hongjoong thinks, suppressing a shiver. The light is casting stars into Mingi’s eyes as he looks up at Hongjoong. “I don’t think I even like men,” Mingi tells him. “I just — want you.”</p><p>“You want to fuck me, you mean.” Hongjoong presses back against the cock digging into his ass, grinning. “I’ll ride you, how’s that?”</p><p>It doesn’t have the desired effect. Mingi stays silent, and he definitely doesn’t jump to say <i>yes sir woof woof please want</i>, like Hongjoong had expected. Instead his face turns even more earnest, and kind of — sad? Pained? Conflicted? </p><p>He’s biting his lip, blinking rapidly. “I don’t think we should,” is what he says. </p><p>Hongjoong goes cold all over like a flash flood. “Okay,” he says.</p><p>In autopilot mode, he tries as quickly as possible to get fucking away — he swings his leg over Mingi, mind blank, ears quiet. <i>I don’t think we should</i>. That’s fine, obviously that’s fine — consent is sexy, and Hongjoong would never — </p><p>Mingi catches him before he can roll off the bed entirely, a hand on his shoulder. “Hongjoong, just wait a second. Can we talk? I have some — I’d like to talk. Please.”</p><p>“We don’t have to fuck, it’s fine,” Hongjoong bites out, wiping his mouth and fixing his hair to hide any signs of their secret makeout session. “Don’t need to make me feel better. I don’t care.”</p><p>“Why are you so fucking —” He hears a frustrated sound. Then, “I have feelings for you, okay? Asshole. I have feelings for you. It’s not that I don’t want to fuck you.”</p><p>What. </p><p>The. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>“What the fuck did you just say?” </p><p>When he turns his head, Mingi glances away like a coward, drawing his hand back. </p><p>“I said I have feelings for you. So I can’t do a friends with benefits thing, alright?” Swallowing, Mingi finally makes eye contact, more fire in his eyes. “I know you fucking hate to hear it, I know. I didn’t want to — “</p><p>“Wait a second.” Hongjoong shakes his head. “You’re saying — my ass made you fall in love with me, or something? I was that good?”</p><p>Mingi stares at him, looking speechless. “No,” he says eventually. “Not — Hongjoong. I’ve been. It’s been a lot longer than that.”</p><p><i>How long,</i> Hongjoong thinks, involuntarily. Part of him can’t fucking believe it — it’s just sheer fucking lunacy, that’s what it is. Mingi, pining after him like some wannabe Taylor Swift? He’s thinking back through the entire history of their relationship, trying to trace the thread of <i>Mingi gay Hongjoong crush.</i> </p><p>“But you hate me,” he says hoarsely. </p><p>A huff of disbelief. “I don’t hate you, Joong.” Mingi sighs, soft and worn. “You’re irritating as fuck, and your head’s stuck up your ass more often than not, but I don’t hate you.”</p><p>Okay. He kind of sounds like he’s telling the truth. What the actual fuck. </p><p>Hongjoong swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat. “I’m mean to you,” he tries. </p><p>“Yeah. I like it.” Mingi is flushing pink, looking back at him. “You’re not actually a mean person, though.”</p><p>Okay… “So, you what? You want to date me, or something?”</p><p>It feels idiotic to even think about it, let alone say it. Him and Mingi, feeding each other popcorn at the movies, instead of duelling with the twin barbed swords of their tongues — that did not end well. Word-tongues, not — anyway. Hongjoong licks his dry lips. </p><p>“I’d like to date you,” Mingi says, very serious and somber, like an old-timey gentleman. <i>May I have this dance, milady?</i>  “Is that — I can’t tell what you’re thinking. Are you about to feast on my entrails, or?”</p><p>Hongjoong’s neck is starting to hurt, bent around to have this ridiculous conversation. He sighs and folds himself back onto the bed fully, sitting cross-legged to look at Mingi’s dumb face as he speaks. </p><p>He has no idea why he’s even entertaining this dialogue, like it’ll actually happen — but. “What would a fucking date even look like, with us?” </p><p>“Uh. Like a normal date?” </p><p>The word makes something tremble inside him, an old, feeble monster. “I’m not good at relationships,” he says, picking at a loose thread in the sheets. “I’m not normal. I can’t — you know I’m fucking crazy, Mingi.”</p><p>The words feel raw in his throat, like fresh vomit. They hurt.</p><p>“I know you,” Mingi says. Slow. Watching him. “I know you, Hongjoong. I get it. I don’t think — well. I know, but honestly, sometimes I feel like you’re the least crazy person I know.”</p><p>It’s too damn honest to be anything but the truth. </p><p>And somehow, it’s the perfect response — so much better than <i>you’re not crazy</i>, or <i>I don’t care about that</i>, or <i>we’re all crazy</i>. All of which Hongjoong has heard before, from his dumb fucking ex, from his relatives, from the bunch of guys he’s slept with who pretended it didn’t <i>matter</i>. </p><p>The thing inside Hongjoong relaxes at the words, soothed. </p><p>“We can go on a date,” he says in a rush. He pinches his hands in the sheets, nerves spiking hot in his belly. “We can go on a date, but if it’s weird we have to go home and fuck. Immediately.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Mingi’s voice cracks on the word. “Uh. Home?”</p><p>“I mean my apartment,” Hongjoong bites back. The fucking idiot can’t be stupid and sappy for more than a few minutes before being infuriating, again. Why did he agree to this? “Or your house. Whatever’s closer. Anyway, shut up.”</p><p>Inside he’s glowing like hot coals, smoking embers. Mingi wants to date him — Mingi, which is fucking crazy in itself, but also — someone wants to date him. Who knows him. Who’s seen him in countless stupid situations, heard him scream and yell and bang things, but wants to, you know. Hold his hand, probably. And talk. And fuck. </p><p>Mm. And fuck. </p><p>“Cool,” Mingi says, grinning so widely that Hongjoong can see most of his gums. “So, do you wanna, um. Sleep here? Or we could, like…” he trails off, reddening. “Unless you’re tired.”</p><p>Hongjoong wants tongue in his mouth right fucking now, but he <i>is</i> tired. Also, he wants to get back at Mingi for that home comment. “I think we should wait until our first date —” bleurgh! “— don’t you? Don’t want to get the wrong idea. Friends with benefits, you know,” he explains sweetly. </p><p>“Oh, yeah.” Mingi clears his throat, nodding. “That’s a good idea. Wait for the date.”</p><p>Oh, he’s so fucking good. <i>Delicious,</i> Hongjoong thinks, and it might be the worst fucking idea they’ve ever had — it’ll probably end in tears and a huge dumpster fire — but he’s glittering on the inside, more excited than he’s been in recent memory. </p><p>He finds the couch empty when he goes outside, carrying a pillow Mingi gifted to him. Because of course he wasn’t going to sleep in Mingi’s damn bed — too much too soon, way too soon. Still gross. </p><p>Still gross, Hongjoong thinks, drifting off, but kind of fucking incredible all the same. </p><p>________________</p><p> </p><p>“Let me get this straight — no, do not,” Seonghwa says, cutting Hongjoong off before he can make the requisite ~I’m the farthest thing from straight~ joke. “You’re going on a date with Mingi?”</p><p>“A coffee date. Yeah.” He smirks at the fucking dumbfounded expression on Seonghwa’s face. “What? You think it’s too soon to rebound?”</p><p>“Reb — Joong. Are you fucking kidding me? <i>Mingi</i>?” Oh, it’s already so fucking fun! </p><p>“Indeed,” he confirms. </p><p>Seonghwa makes a frustrated noise. “Care to explain, or do you just want to see me suffer?” </p><p>Grouchy bastard. Hongjoong shrugs, taking pity on him. “He’s been in love with me for ages, apparently.”</p><p>“....and?” Seonghwa stares at him, his elegant eyebrows peaked into a triangle. “You think he’s a shitstain. What is this, your way of toying with him? You don’t have enough hobbies?”</p><p>Hongjoong glares at him. “I’m not toying with him. Maybe I —” he breaks off, frowning at the ground. He’s taken care not to investigate his feelings on the matter beyond distant, horny interest, and he doesn’t exactly know how to explain it himself. “Maybe he’s not that bad. I may have been, you know. Wrong. About him.”</p><p>“Oh my God,” Seonghwa whispers. There’s really no reason for him to be all dumb-faced like that, like Hongjoong’s made fish from wine, or whatever Jesus actually did. “What the fuck happened to Kim Hongjoong?”</p><p>Bristle. “I swear to God I’m not playing around,” Hongjoong tells him, sniffing in disdain. “We’re just going on a date, anyway, not getting fucking married.”</p><p>If he’s being candid, the thought of <i>just going on a date</i> is still scaring him half to death. It’s fine, he tells himself, for the fiftieth time that day. It’s not going to be any different from normal. Except it’ll just be him and Mingi, and the hovering presence of romantic instead of murderous energy. Vibe check!</p><p>“Look, it’s weird as hell, but I’m happy for you.” Seonghwa sighs, looking at him wryly. “Have fun. And be nice,” he warns. You’re not the only one I’ll kill for, so act accordingly.”</p><p>It’s not an empty threat. Hongjoong nods with appropriate sobriety. “I’ll recap you later,” he promises. Then he stands, grabbing his phone off the table — time to face the music. “Love you, daddy!” he adds, so loud the entire cafe can probably hear it. </p><p>“Fuck you, Joong,” Seonghwa hisses, but Hongjoong just honks a laugh and leaves. </p><p>Serves him right, the judgy little bitch. </p><p> </p><p>As luck would have it, the weather is oddly nice for nearly-December. Hongjoong’s worn three layers — striped shirt, jean jacket, and a nice date-friendly black peacoat that makes him look like a tiny gay Mr. Darcy. And a beanie, so his ears don’t get cold. </p><p>He’s meeting Mingi at a cafe the street over. It’s near the beach boardwalk, which is nice, because they can walk and talk and drink coffee instead of sit. Hongjoong hates sit-down dates, which most dates are — he hates maintaining eye contact, the pressure of having to look like he’s paying attention. He usually is, but it’s annoying to have to not twitch and fidget and nod at all the correct intervals, encouraging the other person to continue speaking. Bleurgh.</p><p>Mingi had offered to pick him up, but nuh fucking uh. Hongjoong is In Control. He doesn’t need Help. </p><p>For once, he wants this to be a meeting of equals — well, near-equals — between him and Mingi. A fresh start, as much as possible with their illustrious history. Hey, if they’re going to go through with this, might as well try not to doom it to failure before it even begins. </p><p>He finds Mingi leaning against the shop window when he approaches.  “Hey, bitch,” he calls, squaring up. </p><p>Ah, perfect — Mingi almost falls down in his attempt to straighten up and look at him. </p><p>“Hey! What’s up.” Mingi smooths two hands over his jeans, already looking nervous. Amazing. Serendipitous. “You look — you look nice.”</p><p>Is this how he talks to girls on dates? Hongjoong wonders, really fucking concerned. It’s a wonder he’s managed to ever get into a woman’s pants with this general approach. </p><p>Well, he supposes Mingi does look aesthetically pleasing, at the bare minimum. Jeans, a dark sweater, his purple bomber jacket. Timbs, of course — like any self-respecting bro would wear anything else on his feet. The boots make him look even taller, towering over Hongjoong as they stand opposite each other. </p><p>Mm. Horny. </p><p>Shut up!!! Hongjoong screams. Not time for that. He’s trying to make Mingi squirm, not get all squirmy and hot himself. </p><p>Anyway. “Thanks, you do too,” he says, smiling pleasantly. “Wish you’d worn tighter jeans, but oh well. Always next time for me to see some ass.”</p><p>“I’m — sorry?” Mingi says, looking alarmed. </p><p>Wonderful. It’s so fucking amusing that Hongjoong just laughs, beckoning him to follow as he pushes the cafe door open.</p><p>Mingi insists on paying when they get to the cash register. Not <i>insist</i> insists, like some trashy facsimile of heterosexuality, but like. He says that he <i>wants to pay, if Hongjoong would let him.</i> The earnest seriousness of his face and tone are so confusing that Hongjoong just lets him, shrugs and — Seonghwa still on his mind — says, “Thanks, daddy.” </p><p>It makes Mingi drop his entire fucking wallet onto the ground, stammering and flustered when he finally hands cash over to the grinning cashier. </p><p><i>You need to calm the fuck down,</i> Hongjoong thinks, delighted. It’s already so fucking fun, and it’s barely even started.</p><p>“So, are finals gonna be tough for you this semester?” Mingi asks, once they’ve snatched up their drinks. </p><p>He’s slowed his long-legged pace to match Hongjoong’s short legs, and they’re strolling casually down the boardwalk. Nice breeze playing with Mingi’s free hair, brushing it down into his eyes like a fluffy dog. </p><p>“Don’t think we’re supposed to talk about school shit on a date, Mingi.” Hongjoong sips his drink, careful not to let liquid slosh out of the cup. He never gets straws because they kill the oceans, but his principled stance makes drinking iced coffee that much harder on the move. “What’s your deepest fear?” he asks, glancing over. </p><p>“Uh…”</p><p>Laugh out loud. “Just kidding!” Hongjoong says, before he can actually answer. “What’s your favorite porn category?” </p><p>“Um.” Mingi is looking at him, but Hongjoong’s eyes are focused on the level of coffee inside his cup. “I like men and women, I guess? Mostly?”</p><p>“Not lesbian? That’s a surprise.”</p><p>“Not as much… I don’t know. It always seems so fake. And the straight stuff does too, but that’s just fake by default, so.” Mingi laughs an awkward little chuckle. “Do you — what do you watch?”</p><p>“Twinks getting railed,” Hongjoong says, just to see Mingi trip over his feet again. “I like big dicks,” he adds, which is true, and not a sadistic lie. </p><p>“That’s cool,” Mingi manages finally, after a couple of choked coughs. “I — uh —”</p><p>“Did you know a certain type of octopus has a detachable penis?” Hongjoong interrupts him. </p><p>Mingi stops gurgling long enough to stare at him in surprise. “No — what? Like it just, comes off?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s like a zombie dick. It swims around by itself looking for holes to fuck.” Beside him, Mingi makes a shocked, amused sound. “Scientists didn’t realize it was just a disembodied dick until years after it was discovered,” Hongjoong continues. “They thought it was a parasitic worm.”</p><p>Mingi loses his shit. </p><p>Doubled over, his drink dangerously close to spilling, even though it has a top — laughing and laughing and laughing. “Is it the zombie penis, or are you laughing at me?” Hongjoong demands, not sure whether he should be angry or not. Mingi looks nicely stupid when he laughs, his face all crunched up so his eyes disappear. </p><p>“Zombie — penis,” Mingi forces out finally, breathless from laughter. “Oh my God, how do you even know that, Joong?”</p><p>Oh. Pleased, Hongjoong tells him. </p><p>He spills the entirety of his animal penis repertoire, because Mingi seems to like it, and then Mingi talks about the weirdest sexual shit his teammates have ever done. He tells Hongjoong stories about the drama between two coaches who were fucking — the athletic world is spicier than Hongjoong had imagined, oh boy. BDSM dungeons! Spankings in the locker room! </p><p> </p><p>And that’s how the date goes. </p><p>Eventually, Hongjoong notices the sun dipping down tiredly into the edge of the water, casting it in orange hues. He’s still holding his plastic drink cup, because the fucking boardwalk doesn’t have any recycling bins, and he’s pleasantly warm and his legs hurt from walking so much. </p><p>“We should get going,” he says, when the conversation peters into strangely comfortable silence. “Late.”</p><p>He feels Mingi’s eyes on his skin. “Yeah, good idea,” Mingi says. “This was really nice, Hongjoong. We could — uh. We could do it again, if you want?”</p><p>Pfff. Hongjoong turns to him, eyebrows raised. “Are you playing hard to get? My house is a five minute walk. We could watch a movie and stuff, <i>if you want</i>,” he adds, mocking.</p><p>Because come on —<i> this was really nice</i>? Hongjoong’s had sex blooming in the back of his brain ever since he caught sight of Mingi in front of the fucking cafe. He’s not going to force anything, but he’d like to <i>smash</i>. Hulk-style, except not. And if Mingi wants to Netflix and chill beforehand, like a real college style date, he doesn’t mind waiting. </p><p>“Oh,” Mingi says, and even his voice sounds flushed. “Yeah, if you want. That’d be cool.”</p><p>And that’s that. Hongjoong lets the “cool” slide without comment, because he’s being selfless and philanthropic again. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeosang’s visiting his parents for the weekend,” he tells Mingi as he unlocks his door. </p><p>Thank God, too — he wouldn’t want to subject the poor baby to Mingi’s bumbling sex persona. Again. Even if their <i>thing</i> isn’t a secret anymore — nothing’s a secret once Seonghwa knows about it, anyway. </p><p>Hongjoong looks forward to checking the group chat later. Maybe he’ll make Mingi show him the non-Hongjoong group chat, too, because those fuckers are probably live-tweeting their opinions of MinJoong right fucking now. Surprisingly, Hongjoong could care less. </p><p>Mingi pulls off his boots to reveal thick white socks. “Nice. So, what do you want to watch?” he asks.</p><p>“I’ll grab my laptop,” Hongjoong says after a second, tearing his eyes away from Mingi’s feet. </p><p>His feet! Which are somehow drawing Hongjoong’s eyes to them, even encased in socks. </p><p>Hongjoong may be more fucked up than he’d thought. </p><p>They decide to watch Knives Out, because Hongjoong’s never seen it. He doesn’t watch too many movies, thanks to his volatile attention span, but Mingi seems to think this one has promise. </p><p>In classic watch and chill mode, Hongjoong has the laptop placed on the living room table, slouched back on the couch next to Mingi. Almost touching, but just barely not. He giggles lightly every so often — the woman who vomits when she lies is great, and the other characters, especially Daniel Craig, are fucking funny as shit. </p><p>It’s still not enough to dampen the urge to play with Mingi. </p><p>Hongjoong’s itching to get touched, okay? He keeps thinking about the other night, how pliant and shivery Mingi was under him. He’s already close to getting erect, and Daniel Craig isn’t helping, either, with his sexy southern drawl. </p><p>Breath held, he inches closer and drops his head onto Mingi’s shoulder. Now they’re practically snuggling, but Mingi doesn’t push him away. He doesn’t do anything, like he’s afraid Hongjoong will stalk away like an exasperated cat if he moves wrong. </p><p>It’s been ages since Hongjoong cuddled with anyone. He shifts his cheek on Mingi’s bony collarbone happily. Warm, nice. No cologne today, just the smell of clean skin, a hint of pine needles. </p><p>Hongjoong lets them stay like that for a while. Then he gets antsy, and places his hand gently onto Mingi’s leg, fingers curled over his inner thigh. </p><p>Mingi twitches under him, the first movement he’s made since Hongjoong pushed his head into his neck. Good, yeah — Hongjoong grins, and presses his fingertips in lightly, denting the meat of his thigh. Grr. He wants to grope Mingi, but he pretends to watch innocently, as if he doesn’t know exactly what his hand’s doing. </p><p>“Do — do you not want to watch the movie,” Mingi asks, when Hongjoong pinches his skin. His voice sounds low and rough, like a car driving over gravel. </p><p>“Depends.” Hongjoong shifts so his mouth is just barely brushing Mingi’s ear. “Do you put out on the first date?” </p><p>A beautiful shudder, accompanied by a shaky breath. Mingi’s so easy to provoke — it’s like he’s made to be teased. Hot damn, Hongjoong thinks, wondrous. How had he not seen it before? </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like — can we kiss?” </p><p>The answer to that is a huge fucking <i>yes</i>. Hongjoong exhales against his neck before he plops over Mingi’s middle, sat right on his lap like the other night. </p><p>Mingi’s hands settle loosely onto his hips, like Hongjoong’s something breakable and fragile. And that would usually make Hongjoong churn with rage, but now. It’s — his dumb starry eyes, the way Mingi’s — always — fucking looking at him like he doesn’t really believe Hongjoong’s there. It makes Hongjoong shiver. It’s — what? He has the sudden urge to bite his lip, and it’s stupid as fuck but somehow he feels shy. </p><p>Ngh — he leans down to kiss, breaking the moment, and yeah, that’s it. He’s missed Mingi’s mouth, missed sinking his teeth into Mingi’s swollen lips. Wet and messy with tongue, feeling Mingi’s hardness under his ass, so thick and full of promise. </p><p>Hongjoong’s hard too, just from kissing, and isn’t that fucking embarrassing? </p><p>“You can grab my ass,” he pants against Mingi’s mouth. </p><p>“‘Kay,” Mingi whispers back, and then his huge fucking hands wrap around Hongjoong’s asscheeks and squeeze, pulling him firmly against his cock. </p><p>Hongjoong grinds against him, breathing heavily, and sucks Mingi’s tongue back into his mouth. Feels so fucking good — fuck. He’s gonna go off in his fucking pants soon if this keeps going. “You wanna take this to the bedroom?” he asks breathlessly. </p><p>Mingi nods, chest heaving. “Hey, Joong,” he says, and then stops. His face is red. </p><p>Oh no. “What? What is it?”</p><p>“I, uh.” Mingi barely meets his eyes. “Just. Would you want to top me?” </p><p>Oh, Hongjoong thinks, clouds invading his brain. Oh. That’s — </p><p>“I don’t know if you do that,” Mingi continues, swallowing. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just thought it would be nice to try it.”</p><p>Hongjoong clears his throat, rerouting enough brain power to respond. That sounds — that would be really fucking nice. His <i>dick is so fucking hard</i>. “When I said put out…” he says, kind of amazed. “I’d fucking love that. Are you sure?” </p><p><i>Takes a lot of trust,</i> he wants to warn. But then he remembers he’d taken Mingi’s dick up his ass without feeling one ounce of trust, and that’s. It feels so long ago. Anyway.</p><p>“I trust you,” Mingi tells him, like he really is telepathic. </p><p>And like that isn’t the most fucking ridiculous thing to say, with the lengthy and often distasteful history between them. </p><p>“Well, I’m a lot smaller than you, anyway.” Hongjoong carefully removes himself from Mingi’s crotch, trying to keep his balance. “C’mon, to the sex room.”</p><p>Mingi looks like a life-size doll, spread out on his back. So frozen still he might as well not be breathing, except for the minute trembling of his eyelashes. </p><p>“How do you want to do this?” Hongjoong asks, feeling awkward. </p><p>So fucking sue him, he hadn’t expected he’d be the one fingering Mingi tonight. Not like he won’t do an amazing job, it’s just. The weight of the responsibility is heavy, almost tangible. </p><p>He hadn’t felt that way when he’d been taking Mingi’s gay virgin cock into his ass, which might have been — well. An error of judgment, on his part. Hongjoong decides he will think about it later, because he needs to focus. </p><p>“This is fine,” Mingi says, watching him. “I showered, like, right before the date. So I should be, you know. Clean.”</p><p>“Love that for me.” Hongjoong is kind of overwhelmed. “Just tell me if anything feels bad, okay? I’ll tell you what I’m doing before I do it.”</p><p>At Mingi’s nod, he drips lube onto one finger and brushes over Mingi’s asshole, feeling it clench against the pressure. <i>He’s gonna be so tight,</i> Hongjoong can’t help but think. It’s his dick-brain — he’s still so fucking erect he could hump Mingi’s leg and get off right there. </p><p>“Putting it in,” he warns, before pushing the finger inside. </p><p>He watches Mingi’s face as he fingers him open. God, the way his face looks — Hongjoong’s cock is throbbing, precome sticking in his boxers, as he adds a second finger, then a third. Mingi takes it so fucking well. It’s amazing. Hongjoong can feel him trying to relax around the intrusion, his eyes darting from Hongjoong’s face to the ceiling to squeezed tightly shut. The room is full of the sounds of heavy breathing, so loud Hongjoong can’t quite tell whose breaths are whose. </p><p>Mingi’s cock looks cartoonishly large lying against his stomach, thick and red. Painfully hard, just like Hongjoong. </p><p>“I think I’m ready,” Mingi tells him, after Hongjoong’s been fucking him with three wet fingers for a few minutes. </p><p>Hongjoong’s fingers are just too short to reach his prostate — he knows it’s there, a few inches in, but fuck his tiny kid fingers. It’s fine. His dick isn’t as big as Mingi’s but he isn’t <i>small</i>, and he thinks he can hit it just fine once he’s inside. </p><p>Inside. Hongjoong is practically vibrating with arousal, but he forces himself to chill the fuck out as he rolls the condom on. </p><p>“Tell me to stop anytime,” he says, positioning himself at Mingi’s entrance. “Put your legs around me, okay?”</p><p>The sound Hongjoong makes when he pushes inside is fucking embarrassing. Oh God, fucking <i>damn</i>. He’s panting like he’s dying as he thrusts in slowly, Mingi’s tight ass sucking him in like a vice, slick and hot. </p><p>Hongjoong’s fucked a grand total of three asses in his life, and <i>fuck</i>. It’s been a while since he’s been inside anything except his own hand, and this is something else. </p><p>He’s gonna blast in two seconds. Oh, God, fuck, Hongjoong thinks desperately, pausing with his cock fully inserted. “How — how is it?”</p><p>“Gimme a sec,” Mingi says roughly. He fists his cock quickly, long fingers wrapped tight around the shaft. His face is so fucking pink, and his nipples are hard. “Yeah, you can — you can go. Move, I mean.”</p><p>This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all, Hongjoong thinks, trying to distract himself from how fucking good Mingi feels around his cock. How good he feels under him, his long slim legs folded around Hongjoong’s back. </p><p>And Hongjoong has never been a big fan of porny, breathy sex noises, but fuck — every moan Mingi lets out, ever sharp sound he makes when Hongjoong brushes against his prostate — makes Hongjoong a little crazier, bringing his orgasm inexorably closer. </p><p><i>No!</i> he begs himself. <i>Just a few minutes, please, I’m begging you.</i></p><p>“Joong,” Mingi whimpers in his low, deep voice. Eyes soft and half-lidded, fixed on Hongjoong’s face. </p><p>He looks stupid — he looks vulnerable. He looks like a country virgin on his wedding night, getting his cherry popped on his back. Starry-eyed, feeling like there’s meaning. </p><p><i>He loves it,</i> Hongjoong realizes, unsure where the thought comes from. Mingi’s hard cock bounces against his stomach with each thrust, evidence of how much he loves getting fucked. </p><p>Mingi, huge dick. Tall. Strong, in a gross way. The boy next door. The sports boy that all the local grandpas talk about, wishing he could be their grandson, so they’d be able to brag about how many points he scores. </p><p>Sweet, when he wants to be. Irritating, when he wants to be. Always carrying himself shyly, like he doesn’t know who exactly he is. </p><p>And here he is, looking up at Hongjoong like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the goddamn world. </p><p>“I’m gonna fucking come,” Hongjoong warns, unable to stop his hips from snapping into Mingi’s beautiful ass. Fucking incredible. “Let me —" He reaches down to grasp at Mingi’s dick, hand trembling uselessly, but Mingi bats his fingers away. </p><p>“You should come first,” Mingi hitches, his legs tightening around Hongjoong’s back. “C’mon, want it.” </p><p>Fuck, he’s gonna come, he’s so close. “Okay, whatever you — want,” he answers, breathless. </p><p>“We can get tested,” Mingi pants, clenching his ass around Hongjoong’s cock. “So next time you can — you can come inside m—”</p><p>Hongjoong mind blanks out with the force of his orgasm. White hot in his brain, in his dick, in his entire fucking body. Mingi’s ass wrapped like a present around him, blazing hot and perfect. </p><p>It lasts a good fucking while, ngh, and then — oh, fuck. He shakes himself, and reaches down to take Mingi’s cock in his hand, jerking him off quickly. </p><p>“God, please...” Mingi arches into his grip, breathing harshly. <i>Come for me</i>, Hongjoong thinks, a little wacko from coming, and from watching Mingi all pink and helpless with pleasure. “Ah, ah —” </p><p>He comes wet and sticky onto Hongjoong’s fingers, pushing into his grip as come dribbles out of the head, blurting onto his stomach. </p><p>“Good boy,” Hongjoong whispers, watching him. </p><p>A little more come spurts out, and Mingi squirms in his still-tight hold, groaning. “Hongjoong…”</p><p>“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Hongjoong squeezes a little. </p><p>“Ungh, you’re a fucking sadist.” </p><p>Hongjoong lets go of his dick with a pinch of regret. “Not very nice, to the person who just made you come,” he says, faux-reproachful.</p><p>He eases his softening dick out of Mingi’s hole with care, checking to see if his ass is in good condition. It looks pretty fine. Slippery, but integral. Then, satisfied, he brings his eyes back to Mingi’s face, and they look at each other. </p><p>“Thanks,” Mingi says after a bit. Just like he’d said standing in the doorstep — <i>thanks, Hongjoong.</i> Hiding the depth of his strange, irrational crush. Hongjoong had been so oblivious. <i>Thanks for fucking me. Thanks for taking my gay virginity. Thanks for</i> — for what, exactly? </p><p>It’s sheer, ludicrous, fucking, ridiculousness. In Hongjoong’s opinion. “It’s a two way street,” he tells Mingi, unsure if it’s a relevant metaphor here. “Hey, listen,” he continues, taking a deep breath. Maybe it’s not the best time to express this, but suddenly there’s a weight on his chest that he needs to exorcise. “I’ve been an asshole to you, and I — I’m sorry.”</p><p>Mingi blinks at him with his mouth wide open. “What?” </p><p>“I’m not really a nice person, okay?” Hongjoong pushes on bravely. “And you need to fucking — stand up for yourself, if we’re going to do this.” Ah, what is he fucking <i>saying</i>. Hongjoong tries to impress the significance of his words by the way he gazes at Mingi, stern and serious. “You can’t just take it from me, just because we’re — we’re dating. And fucking.”</p><p>“Okay?” Mingi says, eyebrows raised. “I’ll — yell at you, too? Is that what I’m supposed to say?” </p><p>Dumb fucking — “God, I hate you.” Hongjoong gives up, slumping down onto the bed. “Wanna take a shower?”</p><p>Somehow, that seems to discombobulate Mingi even more than the apology. “Uh, I can just get going,” Mingi tells him. “I don’t need to. I mean, I don’t want to impose —”</p><p>“You’re not fucking imposing,” Hongjoong growls. “We still have to finish the movie, remember? And you’re not getting lube on the couch.”</p><p>“Okay, sounds good.” Mingi’s voice is hesitant, for no apparent reason. </p><p>He’s literally the most frustrating person alive, Hongjoong thinks, looking at him. He doesn’t really understand why Mingi’s face is how it is. Now, or ever. </p><p>Anyway. They can unpack all of that later.</p><p> </p><p>He lets Mingi have the first shower, then cleans up after him. And if he feels cozy warm when they’re cuddling after — snorting laughs into each other’s breathing space, curved into each other — it doesn’t feel bad at all. Even if it’s disgustingly sappy. </p><p>He’s actually feeling fucking <i>hopeful</i>, that this thing won’t just crash and burn, and take down their entire friend group with it. </p><p><i>WHEN IS THE WEDDING</i> is the first text in the group chat when Hongjoong checks his phone, and he can’t even summon the rage to get annoyed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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